


Moondance

by sanguisuga



Series: Aberrant Fragments [14]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 69 Dude!, Anal Sex, And Greg Likes It, And Mycroft Very Much Likes That, Bent Over The Desk, Frotting, Greg is a Tart, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mycroft is Greedy, No Feels Allowed, Oral Sex, Rimming, mystrade, sex as stress relief, up against the wall - Freeform, yeah right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 33,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: Mycroft has physical needs. Greg has some steam to blow off.Whatever might happen next?





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re far too trusting, Lestrade.”

Greg scowled at his paperwork, barely glancing up at the ominous figure hovering in his office doorway. “Yeah, well, what can I say? It’s one of my many moral failings - at least according to your particular brand of morals.” He quirked an eyebrow at the soft huff of displeasure from across his desk. He looked up again, taking in a breath as Sherlock’s eyes tightened - not in irritation, but in concern.  

“I am quite serious, Lestrade. Your recent - association - with my brother. It must stop. Immediately.”

The denial that bloomed on his tongue was very nearly an automatic response, but it died an early death as Greg sat back and looked at Sherlock’s face carefully. He knew that playing dumb would be fruitless, and besides, it wasn’t like he and Mycroft were really _involved._

He swallowed against the bitter taste in the back of his throat and shrugged. “It’s just a bit of fun, Sherlock. Stress relief. You know how it is.” Greg squinted as Sherlock’s face twisted up. “Or maybe you don’t. Still - I wouldn’t worry about us catching feelings or anything like that. I’m not lining up to be your brother-in-law, Sunshine.” He paused again as Sherlock’s shoulders rounded in, his hands deep in his pockets, pulling his Belstaff around him like armour. Greg leant forward, putting more earnestness into his voice. “We’re both very clear on the rules in this game. No emotions, only sex.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous, Lestrade. While Mycroft has never had an issue with becoming attached to any of his liaisons, you naturally have a far more romantic nature.” He held up a hand as Greg opened his mouth to protest. “That isn’t a bad thing in normal human interactions, no matter how much I may struggle to understand it. But where he is concerned...”

“Your brother isn’t going to break my heart, Sunshine.”

Sherlock fixed him with a piercing gaze, somehow mocking and caring all at once. “No, Lestrade. He will consume it.” Greg’s brain reeled as Sherlock strode around his desk, abruptly shoving his way right into his personal space. “The man that you see, that you let fuck you - it’s a _façade_. The creature underneath is...” Sherlock shuddered theatrically, scowling as Greg shoved him away.

“You’re just being melodramatic because you don’t want Mycroft to have any fun. Nothing more than a silly little boy jealous of his big brother.” Greg levelled his finger at Sherlock’s chest, giving him a good hard poke. “Grow up and stay the hell out of my business. It’s none of your concern who I fuck around with.”

Sherlock threw up his arms in a fit of pique and spun around, his coat swirling around him in the familiar swish of heavy fabric. Greg almost cracked a smile as he stomped off towards the door, but it turned into a frown as Sherlock paused there for a long moment, his fingertips going white as he clutched at the frame. Greg forced himself to take steady breaths as Sherlock seemed to debate something internally, finally half-turning to meet his gaze obliquely.

“Greg.” Sherlock’s lips quirked as Greg let out a quiet gasp. Although they had been working together for a number of years, Sherlock far preferred to order him about with his surname - Lestrade this, Lestrade that. He only used his given name when he was trying to be respectful and sincere in his requests, and that made Greg sit up just a bit straighter. “Just... Be careful.” He met Greg’s eyes fully, that oddly concerned look back on his face. “Please.”

And then he was gone, leaving Greg to curse the surreal turn his life had taken ever since he had become acquainted with the bloody Holmes brothers. He contemplated the most recent and by far the oddest change in his circumstances, a rote meeting that had turned into something quite different.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins... Kinda.
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies - please do comment!

Although the meetings weren’t exactly regular, Greg had come to expect the black town car at least once a month. It would spirit him away, to Mycroft’s office, or his club, wherever the shadowy government man happened to be at any given moment in time. Once they had even met on a park bench, and Greg had been utterly thrilled with the spy movie setting, barely keeping himself from giggling madly through the brief exchange. Mycroft had indulged his whimsy by circumspectly handing over a newspaper that had been folded to reveal a coded message inscribed within the crossword. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, Greg had delivered his monthly deposition on the Consulting Pain-In-The-Arse and then had been whisked back to his office as though nothing unusual had transpired between them.

Greg opened his desk drawer and rifled through the detritus, digging out the memento of that day that he had kept for some unknown reason. He looked at the crossword again, wincing slightly at his messy attempts to decipher it, grinning at the message that he had written out in big block letters once he had finally succeeded. ‘Big Brother Is Watching You.’

Greg chuckled and shook his head as he tucked it back away. Quite unlike Sherlock, Mycroft actually had a sense of humour, although Greg never knew when it was going to make an appearance. Most of their interactions were nothing but professional - quick and efficient and impersonal. But every now and again, just a little bit of personality would shine through Mycroft’s icy exterior, and Greg would find himself wondering what else might be lurking underneath.

He knew his interest was dangerous, even well before Sherlock had come to warn him off. He didn’t exactly bump elbows with the Whitehall lot, but he had been to enough official functions to overhear some of the rumours, to understand that Mycroft’s colleagues called him ‘The Ice Man’ behind his back. Greg had thought the moniker rather fitting even though he had always had the fancy that Mycroft had been a shark in one of his past lives. He was certainly cold-blooded enough in his political dealings, sharp and ruthless. Slow to anger, but when it surfaced, woe betide any living thing caught in his sights. Mycroft Holmes was ensconced in his three-piece bespoke armour, and unflappable in his omniscience. He was untouchable.

At least - he had been.

Three weeks prior, Greg had been dealing with a frustrating case. Their suspect was some minor lord’s son, and the little shit was utterly confident that Daddy was going to extricate him from the mess he had created. Uncooperative and snarky, he had mouthed off enough that Greg had to step out of the interview room a couple of times just to calm his temper. He was normally fairly level-headed when questioning perps and had sat stony-faced through any number of truly horrifying confessions, but something about this kid’s sense of entitlement just set Greg’s blood to boiling.

He had finally called it a night and sent the little bastard down to the nick to cool his heels until morning, snorting in irritation at the, “My father will hear about this,” that followed him outside. It was nearly nine at night and Greg was feeling jittery as hell. He was just about to pop down to the corner shop and break his five month long non-smoking streak when the car pulled up. Secretly feeling like it was a bit of divine intervention even as he swore and stomped to the back door, Greg settled into the leather seat and tried to keep his leg from jiggling through the entire journey to Mycroft’s club.

He was recognisable enough at The Diogenes Club now that nobody challenged his presence anymore. They simply gestured to the sign-in book and nodded him in the direction of Mycroft’s office as if he were not already well familiar with the route. Instead of his customary two taps on the door and deferential hovering in front of Mycroft’s ostentatious monstrosity of a desk, this time Greg had swept in, shucked off his mack and tossed it on a nearby chair before starting to pace fitfully around the room.

He had been made aware of the rather calculating silence only when it was broken on his third circuit, and he had paused in front of a well-stocked bookcase as Mycroft cleared his throat. “Bad day, then?”

Greg had snorted, chuckled, made some kind of strangled agreement even as he shook his head. “Your baby brother isn’t the only arrogant jumped-up bastard that I have to deal with, Mr. Holmes. And at least I get to yell at _him_.” Greg had resumed his pacing, shaking out his hands as they subconsciously curled into fists. “Sorry, I just...” He glanced at Mycroft’s face, as impassive as ever even though his eyes were regarding him in a less clinical fashion than usual. “I’ve been a bit restless lately and then tonight...” Greg remembered that he had tried to make his mouth stop, but the odd agitation in his chest had just kept it going. “I’ll have to go on a run when we’re done here, I think - Sherlock is fine, by the way, still annoying as hell but he gets results - sorry again, there’s usually only a couple of ways I can blow off this kind of energy but I really really don’t see either of them happening any time soon, so I...”

“Fight or fuck?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A choice is discussed, and very nearly agreed on. 
> 
> Heh. So happy that people seem to be enjoying - please continue to comment!
> 
> ~xo~

Greg’s feet stopped before the rest of him had fully registered the words, and he nearly sprawled face-first onto the rug. Turning around incredulously, he regarded the somewhat smug expression on Mycroft’s face in astonishment.

“Those are the two options you alluded to, yes?” Greg could only nod shakily as Mycroft flashed the briefest of grins at him. “I am well familiar with the sensation.”

Greg sputtered in disbelief.  _ “You?” _

Mycroft shrugged, covering up his irritation as he stood, tugging his waistcoat down before striding over to the drinks trolley. Over the clinking of glass, he said, “I shall let you in on a little secret, Detective Inspector. The key to maintaining control is allowing oneself to lose it - at the appropriate time.” Mycroft turned with a glass in each hand, and Greg had accepted his drink rather numbly. “Now. The club does host gym facilities downstairs. I could set up a sparring session for you with a suitably beefy young man as a partner if that is your choice.” Mycroft’s eyes twinkled over his glass as he took a sip of whisky. “I do believe that I would take a great deal of pleasure in watching you get your arse handed to you. Or...” Mycroft sat in one of the leather wing-back chairs across from his desk, gesturing to the opposite seat. “We can sit and discuss the  _ other _ option and perhaps come to an arrangement that we will both find far more - pleasurable.” 

Greg sunk down into the well-worn leather, his fingers tense around the cut-crystal glass. “You aren’t serious.”

Mycroft’s lips turned down slightly. “Without any reflective surfaces nearby, I cannot be one hundred percent positive, but I am fairly certain that this  _ is _ my serious face.”

Greg snorted and finally took a sip of his whisky, some of the shakiness draining out of him at the subtle burn splashing into his belly. “What are you proposing, exactly?”

“Physical relief, nothing more. I have needs, Detective Inspector. Needs the same as nearly any other man, but my options are limited by my career and other - considerations.” Mycroft’s mouth pursed pensively. “My options grow smaller every day.”

Greg had looked at him, still coolly elegant and seemingly unruffled by the delicate conversation, feeling somehow saddened and excited all at the same moment. “I see. Bottom of the list, am I?”

Mycroft’s eyebrows lifted at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. “Through no fault of your own, I assure you. I have always found you to be a singularly attractive man, Detective Inspector.” His eyes had roved over Greg’s body with obvious appreciation. “Healthy and - robust, if a bit harried at times. It was purely your association with Sherlock that kept you relegated to the ‘hands-off’ column. But now..." Mycroft took in a deep breath, his fingers playing at the edge of his glass. "As I mentioned before, my options are limited, and at this particular time of my life, I am less inclined to acquiesce to Sherlock’s foibles than I am to embrace my own.” Mycroft’s eyes suddenly fixed on Greg’s, dark and predatory. “Quite frankly, fuck my brother.”

“I’d really rather not. You, on the other hand...”

“Yes?”

Greg drained his glass and set it aside. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested, but of course you already know that.” Mycroft conceded with a wry tilt of his head. “I am wondering why you’re reaching the bottom of that list, though. Do you just get tired of them or what?”

Something in Mycroft’s face had shuttered then, his eyes once again clearing and taking on a placid, blank expression. “I’ll not lie to you, Detective Inspector. Any previous arrangements only came to an end when they became incapacitated in the course of their duties. My last - partner - is now laid up with a rather unfortunate back injury and is therefore no longer of any use to me.”

Greg swallowed hard at that, easily reading the unusual tension in Mycroft’s shoulders for what it was. Guilt. “Get a bit rough, do you?” Mycroft blinked, his eyes dropping to the floor between them. Although he did not speak, Greg recognised his silence as an acknowledgement of the facts. When he spoke again, his trousers had gone a bit tight, and he shifted against the pressure. “I like rough.”

The look in Mycroft’s eyes when he looked back up at him made a swift thrill zing through Greg’s bollocks, and his cock positively throbbed when he said, “I know,” in that cool, collected voice of his. 

And then he was on his knees, working his way between Greg’s spread legs, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out. Sliding them up, squeezing his long fingers around Greg’s thighs, Mycroft had looked up at him, licking his lips suggestively. “Perhaps a demonstration is in order? You will be under no obligation if you do not find it satisfactory. We can forget this ever happened and carry on as before if you wish.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of the prompts that I was getting inspired me today, but that could also be because I wasn't feeling all that great, even after leaving work early. So I decided to post another chapter on this one instead!
> 
> Enjoy! And please do comment... *muah*

Greg laughed at that, a full-throated belly laugh that had apparently left Mycroft at a bit of a loss, simply blinking up at him in silence. “Yeah, no chance of that, not now that I’ve seen you like this. Pretty sure I’m ready to sign on the dotted line.”

Mycroft chuckled quietly, reaching out to trail his fingers over the bulge at Greg’s crotch. “So I see, Detective Inspector. Shall I...”

“Ah-ah.” Greg daringly reached out to tilt Mycroft’s face up with one finger under his chin. Lightly tapping his nose and grinning at the pure outrage that lit up in Mycroft’s eyes, Greg shook his head. “No titles. Not when we’re like this. That’s my one request. We can keep to Mr. Holmes and the like when it’s business, but we call each other by our given names when it’s extracurricular. Are we agreed, Mycroft?”

Interestingly, Mycroft paused at that, taking in a deep breath. Greg rather had the notion that he would have preferred that particular barrier to remain between them, but he conceded easily enough. “A reasonable enough request, as long as you do not resort to diminutives.”

“Aw, I don’t get to call you Myc?”

A low growl was the only response. That - and an impatient tug at the zip of Greg’s trousers. The negotiations had apparently begun, and almost immediately, Greg had known that he was in over his head. Mycroft Holmes sucked cock like he was a starving man and it was a banquet laid out in front of him. There was very little finesse, only intent and purpose. Mycroft’s intent was very clearly to make Greg come, and he set about the task with much of the same ruthless efficiency that he employed in his daily life. Fingers squeezing and twisting around the shaft of Greg’s cock, his tongue nimble against the frenulum, his mouth hot and wet and oh so clever. 

It hadn’t been long before Greg was squirming in his seat, hands clenched tight on the arms of his chair. He fought the urge to reach out and touch, to bury his fingers in the auburn hair, to caress and stroke. It was too early in the game for such casual intimacy, and besides, that wasn’t what this was about. This was about sex, pure and simple, and so Greg let himself feel it, let himself move with it, and the low hum of approval at the first of his trembling thrusts just encouraged him to move faster until he choked out a warning. 

Mycroft acknowledged this by flattening his hand over Greg’s belly and sinking down as low as he could go - which seemed to be all the way, as his nose pressed almost painfully into his groin. As the pressure valve exploded, as Greg bit his lip to keep his cries to a minimum, he was dimly aware of the muscles of Mycroft’s throat working around him, milking every last bit of come out of his cock. 

His vision went a bit white at the edges as his orgasm crashed through him, cresting and then subsiding into a low buzz of relief and satisfaction. With his head lolling against the back of the chair, Greg had opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft Holmes, still on his knees and yet with barely a hair out of place. His lips were reddened, a bit puffy and slick, and Greg wanted to bite them, to sink his teeth in until he tasted blood.

Mycroft must have seen something of the impulse in his face, and he smiled slowly, showing teeth that somehow seemed a bit too sharp. He licked his lips and closed his eyes as if savouring a fine wine, his throat elongating as he tilted his head. “Absolutely delicious.”

Greg giggled, still riding the high of the endorphins swishing through his blood. “A fine vintage, eh?” More giggles as Mycroft’s eyes had narrowed, clearly fighting his own amusement. “I drink far too much black coffee for that to be true, but I appreciate the compliment anyhow.”

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand as he stood, brushing down the knees of his trousers. “That’s just the upper note. It’s the finish that matters, the manner in which you linger on my tongue.” Greg’s mouth had gone dry as Mycroft looked him up and down again, his eyes dark and still hungry. “Full-bodied, richly piquant and savoury. I rather look forward to more.” 

“Hell’s bells.” Greg blinked as the sharp smile flashed at him again, finally shaking his head and tucking himself away. “And you? Want me to return the favour?”

Mycroft settled himself behind his desk again, his glass of whisky refilled. Greg noted that his had been left empty. He shook his head decisively. “No, thank you. Just in the mood for an appetiser at the moment - you may go.”

“So - should we schedule something, or...”

“Ah, yes.” Mycroft pulled out his mobile, scrolling here and tapping there, a slight crease between his brows. “How do Friday evenings work for you? Around eight?” 

Greg nodded as he slipped his mack back on. It wasn’t like he needed to check his schedule - he knew that he didn’t have anything on. “Circumstances allowing, of course.”

“Naturally. I will send a car, as per usual.” 

“Yeah, great.” Greg had stood there for a moment more, his lips pulling down slightly as Mycroft turned his attention to his laptop. “Well... Thanks - I guess?”

Mycroft acknowledged this with a politely closed-mouth smile, his eyes cutting to the door meaningfully. Greg, who was not a stupid man, took the hint and left. 

The town car delivered him home, he had taken a shower and ordered take-out, going about his business as normally as possible. Falling into bed at one in the morning, he had stared blankly up at the ceiling and wondered just what in the hell he had gotten himself into. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going on a little roadtrip tomorrow - er, later today - so I thought I'd post this a bit early.
> 
> Enjoy, and please do comment!

The second time, Mycroft had him up against the wall, their trousers pulled down just far enough to enable him to frot between Greg’s thighs. He quickly discovered that Mycroft was deceptively strong as he held Greg’s arms over his head with one hand, easily pinning him in place no matter how he tried to twist free. Greg stopped struggling when Mycroft had finally reached around to grip his cock, pulling at him hard and fast even as his own rhythm started to falter. 

Greg felt the first hot splashes between his legs before the low growl from behind entered his consciousness, shivering as he had felt the vibration of it against his back. Although he didn’t necessarily consider himself submissive when it came to these kinds of activities, he had always liked it when the men he was with displayed rather primal tendencies. Nothing got him hotter than being manhandled, his partners simply taking what they wanted, holding him tight enough to bruise, grunting and straining like beasts as they fucked him. 

There was something feral in Mycroft’s manner that he hadn’t expected, some sense of restrained ferocity that he wanted to see unleashed. Greg had the feeling that if their encounters were skin-on-skin, there would be biting and clawing - marking. He wanted that, wanted the reminders, wanted Mycroft to see the fading marks during their next assignation, wanted to feel him renew them over and over again. 

He didn’t allow himself to think what that might mean, beyond the fact that it would make him feel wanted, to be desired enough to be marked like that. But then there had been another deep rumble in the chest pressed up against his back, of approval and satisfaction, and when Mycroft turned him around to face him, the wild hunger in his eyes had made Greg’s knees weak and he had simply slid down to the floor.

Mycroft followed him, once again descending on his cock and swallowing him down, and it was only a few bobs of his head before Greg was muffling his shout in his arm, his teeth clenching around the cheap material of his suit jacket. Mycroft sucked on him ravenously all through his orgasm and beyond, until Greg was whimpering with it, one hand clenched firmly in auburn hair and straining to pull him off. Mycroft hummed as he finally relinquished, his eyes glinting dangerously as he looked into Greg’s wrecked face and delivered a couple of parting licks.

Greg jumped and cursed and tried to wriggle away, but his trousers were too tangled around his shoes to allow him any traction. So he went limp instead, letting his head fall to the floor, feeling rather ridiculous with his come-splattered thighs splayed wide as he stared up at the wood panelling on the ceiling. He heard the barest echo of a chuckle before he was aware of movement, still staring blankly as he listened to Mycroft get up and retrieve something from his desk. 

He jumped again as a plastic pack of sanitary wipes was dropped on his stomach, finally lifting his head to watch as Mycroft casually wiped himself clean before tucking his spent cock back into his bespoke trousers. With a mumbled, “Ta,” Greg sat up and began the surprisingly laborious task of cleaning himself up. After reaching for a fourth wipe, he had lifted his hands in exasperation.

“Do you always come this much or had you been holding off or summat?” Greg struggled to his feet, bending at the waist to scrub at yet another blob on his skin. “And is it always this thick and sticky, I mean, my God!”

There were a couple of beats of tense silence, and he glanced up, noting the tight line of Mycroft’s mouth and the bright spots of colour high on his cheeks. Obviously biting his tongue, Mycroft nodded in the direction of a door to the right of his desk. “There is a toilet, if you’d prefer soap and water.”

Greg tried to wave off his embarrassing gaffe with a grin and a wave of a soiled wipe. “Nah, this’ll do me until I get home, it’s just a bit - surprising.”

“It often is,” Mycroft muttered. Turning his attention back to his laptop as Greg re-dressed himself, he cleared his throat faintly. “I won’t be available next week - quarterly conference out of the country.”

“Quarterly? Blimey. I can barely get  _ into _ the country once a year, can’t imagine going out of it every three months.”

“Yes, well. When duty calls…” 

Greg had conceded with a little twist of his head, reaching for his mack and tossing it over his arm. “Right. See you in a fortnight, then.”

Mycroft met his eyes, that quick blink-and-you-miss-it sharp smile flickering on and off again. “Yes. And I expect you to be ready for me, Greg.”


	6. Chapter 6

Well, Greg had known exactly what that had meant, which was why he was here two weeks later with a plug snug in his bum and a semi poking at his zip, eagerly counting down the hours until eight p.m. Thank goodness he hadn’t needed to stand during Sherlock’s little lecture - he would have been deduced in a flash and it would have no doubt been announced to the entirety of his team. He was already having enough difficulty keeping himself from jumping up and pacing off his nervous energy, knowing that his precarious situation would only be exacerbated by any strenuous activity.

So he sat at his desk and steadily plowed through his paperwork, quickly getting lost in a haze of endless forms and testimonies. He was shaken out of it around midday when he waved off Sally’s invitation to lunch, happily accepting the sandwich she brought back for him instead. Greg handed off a few things to her to be passed around the rest of the team and settled back into it, only the occasional shifting in his chair reminding him of what was to come in a few hours’ time.

People drifted in and out of his office to ask questions, to beg for time off, to say goodnight and to order him to have a relaxing weekend. By seven, the entire floor was empty, and he scuttled past vacant desks to the gents’ to relieve himself. The pressure deep within and the subtle shifting of the solid metal plug woke his cock up with a vengeance, and he cursed at it as he tried to take a piss without spraying it everywhere. That task completed - more or less - Greg stalked over to the sink to wash his hands, looking down as his cock rose up to greet him. 

He briefly entertained the idea of giving in, but he had a feeling that Mycroft would be disappointed if his customary treat wasn’t as abundant as usual. If he could even get it up twice in an hour - he wasn’t exactly a young man any longer. Even though the thought of potentially disappointing Mycroft was enough to make Greg’s cock wilt slightly, it didn’t subside completely until he took a couple of paper towels and dampened them under the cold tap before shoving them into his pants. 

Treading slowly and carefully back to his office, he shut everything down and went outside to wait. He was about a half-hour early, but he was hoping the cool night air would help to keep his arousal at bay. Leaning back against the cold stone of the building, Greg kept his mack artfully draped in front of him and settled in to wait. 

Of course the wait was only about five minutes, and his cock rallied with a silent cheer as the black town car rounded the corner. Hell - at this rate, he’d develop a Pavlovian boner every time one of these bastards passed him in the street. And then of course there was the thought that Mycroft was clearly just as eager for their little  _ tête à tête _ as he was, which indicated very good things to come.

Still holding his mack in place to preserve his dignity, Greg slipped into the back of the car and tried not to fret as he was carried off to get buggered. Although he’d been fucked enough as a young man, his encounters lately had been more rushed and transitory. A quick spark over drinks at a nightclub that might lead to even quicker handjobs in a dirty toilet, that sort of thing. There had been some frenzied rutting and a sloppy blowjob or two, but that was pretty much the extent of his middle-aged hookups. 

Sure, he had his toys and he liked to play with them, but that was quite a bit different than a real flesh-and-blood cock driving deep into him. Greg felt his cheeks flush as he squirmed in his seat, clenching down around the plug. He hadn’t exactly gotten a real eyeful yet, but from what he recalled of their last encounter, Mycroft was sporting a fairly thick cock. Thick and powerful - veiny.  _ Goddammit, can’t this car go any faster? _

Greg forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths as the car came to a stop, willing his heartbeat to calm to a more moderate pace before he stepped out onto the pavement. Watching the car pull away smoothly, he straightened his shoulders and tried to look as if he wasn’t a desperate tart as he strode into the club. He nearly walked right past the registration desk, biting back his curse as they chased him halfway down the corridor and silently demanded he sign in. 

Greg mouthed his apologies and lifted a conciliatory hand at the stern frown that was bestowed on him, solemnly promising that he would not be so lax the next time. By the time he made it to Mycroft’s office, he was sure that every person he had passed knew that he was here to get stuffed full of cock and his face was absolutely burning. Knocking twice, he slipped inside and spent a long moment with his forehead against the door before turning around. 

Greg stopped short as Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, his face as impassive as ever, but greatly altered from the last time he had seen him. Draping his mack over the back of a chair, he folded his arms and leant over it, looking Mycroft up and down. “You look like crap, mate.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee hee heeee... I love posting short chapters and leaving all my lovelies hanging...
> 
> Kisses!

Mycroft’s head reared back slightly as his nostrils flared. “And am I supposed to thank you for your unsolicited commentary?”

Greg sucked in a short breath through his teeth. “Nah, sorry. Didn’t mean to be so blunt. But really - you’ve lost weight, haven’t you?” He gestured vaguely in Mycroft’s direction. “You’re all gaunt and pale and those bags under your eyes...” He shook his head. “You look like you could use a hearty meal and a nice long kip. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Mycroft drew himself up with haughty precision. “I am perfectly capable of performing, if that’s your worry. You clearly came here with certain expectations, and I assure you that I can deliver.”

Greg huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes with a certain degree of fondness that he couldn’t quite hide. Bloody Holmeses. “I have no doubt that you are capable of a great many things, Mycroft. Even to the detriment of your health. I’m not asking if you _can_ , I’m asking if you _should_.”

Mycroft stuck out his chin obstinately. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t. Especially if I am correct in what is lurking underneath that dreadful suit of yours.”

Greg grinned as he cast an appraising eye over the man sitting opposite. He was quite clearly discomfited at Greg’s less than complimentary assessment, and really - who wouldn’t be? Although Mycroft did look somewhat run down, he didn’t necessarily appear weakened, just a bit tired - and far too thin. Mycroft looked down at his hands as Greg considered, somehow curling into himself, growing smaller and inexplicably timid.

“Will you at least eat something?”

Mycroft glanced up before straightening his shoulders. “After.” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps.”

“How about you promise me, and I show you what’s under this dreadful suit in return?”

Mycroft blinked, inclining his head in a shallow nod. He watched avidly as Greg slipped his jacket off, keeping himself partially hidden behind the dubious shelter of the wingback chair. His shoes went next, and after a moment’s consideration, the socks did too. Trousers and pants dropped to the floor in an inelegant heap, and Greg bent down to retrieve them as Mycroft clucked his tongue in faint disapproval. Then he was flicking his shirt buttons open one by one, utterly fascinated by the change that came over Mycroft’s face as he fixed his gaze on his fingers.

What with the weight he had seemingly lost in such a short span of time, leaving his cheeks hollow and his eyes glittering darkly, he looked even more voracious, like a mongrel left to fend for itself in the wilderness. His lips drew back in a subconscious snarl as Greg held his shirt open before sliding it off his shoulders, carefully draping it over the rest of his kit and then stepping away from his meagre hiding spot.

Standing naked and fully exposed in front of Mycroft’s desk, Greg fought to still the trembling in his limbs as that hungry gaze swept over him. He found himself standing straighter as he caught the obvious appreciation in Mycroft’s eyes, his shoulders going back and his chin tilting up proudly. Sure, he felt a bit like a specimen on the auction block, but he also felt like Mycroft would be willing to bid top dollar for his tired old self. It was a heady feeling - knowing that he was wanted, even if it was just for his body.

Greg jumped as Mycroft stood abruptly, his own suit jacket getting cast aside, his shirt sleeves swiftly rolled up to mid-forearm. He bit his lip as Mycroft rounded his desk, only then becoming aware of the small electric fire in the wall, turned up as high as it could go. He braced himself before he felt the chilled touch of icy fingertips on his shoulder, sucking in a breath as his nipples hardened almost immediately.

Mycroft murmured an insincere apology as he moved in a slow circle around him, just the very tips of those long, elegant fingers trailing over his skin. Over his arms, up and down and along his spine, skimming in ghostly circles over the small of his back. Greg shivered, half in pleasure and half in torment as the touch was so light that it almost felt like nothing at all. He wanted... Oh, how he _wanted_.

Mycroft seemed to understand, finally laying the whole of his hand over Greg’s lower belly, cradling his middle-aged paunch, digging his nails in. He showed his teeth as Greg sucked in a breath, sliding around behind him, pressing close to his back. Mycroft reached around to cup Greg’s pectorals, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his fingers into claws and dragged them down the length of his torso.

Greg gasped as his head went back, hissing out an affirmative even as Mycroft settled his hands over his hips, pushing him forward. Greg went easily, bending down over Mycroft’s desk as though he’d done it dozens of times already, wiggling his naked arse over the clothed hardness that pressed into him before it was angled away. Cool fingers were on his cheeks, spreading them wide, and Mycroft hummed low in pleased appreciation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tra la la!!
> 
> Please do comment!

“You take direction very well, Detec-” Greg pushed himself up on his elbows and cast a warning glare over his shoulder, snorting as Mycroft actually blushed at his non-verbal chastisement. “I do beg your pardon. _Greg_.”

He harrumphed quietly as he settled back down, stretching his arms out. “Better.” Greg once again wriggled his arse, moaning and squirming as the plug was twisted and tugged. “We both know what we’re here for. I see no reason to play coy.”

Mycroft chuckled as he tugged a little harder, cooing low as the plug came free. Greg let out a slow breath even as his arsehole twitched, mourning the loss of fullness. “I have a hard time believing you could ever play coy, Greg.”

Greg laughed in his turn. “When I was younger, perhaps. Face of an angel.” He tilted his head at the sound of a condom wrapper, the click of a lid. “Always been a devil, though.”

“Now, that...” Mycroft started to push into him. “I have absolutely no difficulty believing.”

Greg lifted his bum and bore down, hardly breathing as he was stuffed to the brim. Oh, he’d been right about Mycroft’s cock, thick and veiny in all the right places, stretching him beautifully, filling him up. He was so deep inside that Greg almost fancied that he could feel him poking at his bellybutton. Mycroft’s fingers flexed around Greg’s hips as he withdrew, pushing back in smoothly.

Greg grunted quietly as Mycroft laid his weight down over his back, the buttons on his waistcoat scraping over his skin. He tilted his head as Mycroft’s breath brushed over the back of his neck, shivering delightfully as gooseflesh popped out over his arms.

“I do hope I’m not being presumptuous, but...” Mycroft ground into him, rolling his hips with exaggerated slowness. “I’d rather like to get you tested. This...” Another slow, deep thrust. “Oh, but this is an arse that deserves to get fucked bare.”

Greg nodded wildly, clutching at the edge of the desk as he tried to push back against the next thrust. “Yes, God _yes_. I want that.”

“Do you?” Mycroft lifted himself up slightly, pushing into him a bit faster. “Do you want to feel me come inside you? As thick and sticky as it is?”

Greg shouted as he was fucked harder, simply holding on and taking it, not giving one damn if he could be heard from outside the room. Mycroft snarled as he dug his fingers into his hips, his nails carving half-moons into his skin. Everything was heat and pressure and slick, squishy noises, but Greg finally managed to nod, to spit out an answer to Mycroft’s lewd query.

“Yes, yes - I want you to f-fuck me bare want you to leave your hot sticky load behind. I want whatever you’ll give me, want to carry you inside me for days, fuck _yes..._ ”

Mycroft abruptly paused in his frenzied thrusting, suddenly shoving into Greg so hard that he actually felt the mahogany monolith that he was clinging to skid over the floor. Growling and snarling, Mycroft went up on his toes as his cock pumped into Greg’s body, and as the time before, he didn’t seem to give himself even a moment to recover before withdrawing.

Greg once again found himself yanked and pulled and turned around, his back flat on the surface of the desk, his legs instinctively curling in around Mycroft’s torso. He shouted again as Mycroft’s fingers found their way into his body, not thrusting hard, just paddling around inside.

Greg jumped when they found their target, and Mycroft smiled sharply before he descended on his cock. No fierce sucking this time, only a persistent swirl of the tongue around the head, concentrating on that spot just underneath, that spot that made Greg’s teeth tingle with the need to let go, but of course Mycroft’s fingers knew their business just as well as his tongue, and when he settled that little spongy mass between his fingertips and squeezed, Greg was fairly sure that his eyeballs would actually blow out with the force of his orgasm.

Mycroft hummed happily as Greg spurted down his throat, very nearly purring with each hasty swallow. The look of sheer bliss on his face was almost enough to get Greg started again, and even though he could barely breathe properly after that, he found himself wishing that he had more to give. Tentatively reaching out as his vision cleared, Greg brushed his fingers over the forelock that had fallen into Mycroft’s face. His eyes opened slowly, dark and fathomless, glimmering with contentment.

After a moment he seemed to shake himself out of it, letting Greg’s cock fall from his mouth with a wet plop and straightening to his full height. He very kindly let Greg situate himself before stepping away so that he didn’t tumble to the floor in an ungainly heap, but he didn’t really linger, either. Greg leant up against the desk as he watched Mycroft stalk over to the small en suite, listening to the running of water as he waited for his head to stop spinning.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the aftermath... 
> 
> Please do comment!
> 
> ~xoxo~

When Mycroft returned, as cool and unflappable as ever, he seemed a little surprised to find his guest still starkers, and he lifted an eyebrow at Greg's crossed-arms posture. “Food, Mycroft. You promised.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly as he turned away. “Hardly a binding agreement.” He staggered slightly as he started back to his desk chair, his shoulders stiffening as Greg snorted at him. “Fine.” Mycroft turned his head obliquely, his voice pitched low. “Would you care to join me?”

Greg grinned as he started to gather his clothes. “That would be wonderful, actually.” He watched as Mycroft reached for the club phone. “Didn’t have dinner - was too nervous about tonight.” He shrugged idly at the inquisitive eyebrow. “It’s been awhile.”

“So I gathered.” Mycroft flashed that sharp smile again. “You were so delightfully snug around me.” He turned his attention back to the phone, a hint of the smile lingering as Greg shivered and headed to the toilet. “James? Yes - for two, if you would. Much obliged.”

Greg leant up against the bathroom door for a moment before turning to the mirror above the sink. He ran his fingers over the long pink trails that had been bestowed by Mycroft’s nails, rubbing over the already purpled half-moon marks on his hips. He poked at the deep indentation that the edge of the desk had left in his lower belly. It was already aching with the pleasant throb that indicated an impending bruise, and what a lovely bruise it would be.

Greg giggled faintly as he recalled his younger days, how he and his mates would exchange stories of their various war wounds, often stripping down to nothing just to crow over their respective marks. God, what would they think of him now? Greg smirked to himself. Probably be jealous, once they got a good look at Mycroft’s cock. Biting his lip, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, Greg reached around and down, three of his fingers sliding in easily. He shivered pleasantly at the tenderness of his flesh, at the slight puffiness that gave under his probing. Fucked him wide open, he had.

He rifled through the pile of his clothing, hissing out a low, “Yes!” as his plug tumbled out. He gave it a quick wash and shook it dry, squatting right there in front of the sink and wasting no time shoving it right back into his body. He wiggled his hips as he stood again, grinning broadly at his own pink cheeks. Then he finally wiped down and started to put himself back together.  

By the time he came out of the bathroom, there was an attendant with a food trolley setting up in the middle of the room, shifting the wing-back chairs into place opposite each other. He nodded deferentially to the both of them and took his leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Greg lifted one of the silver domes and stared at the perfectly seared steak and artfully arranged pile of thin, crispy chips.

“Steak frites.” Mycroft settled into the chair opposite, laying his napkin in his lap before revealing his own plate. “Simple, but very satisfying.”

After getting settled, Greg cut into the meat and found it to be a perfect medium-rare. “Is there any - ah.” He snatched up the little jar of brown sauce, grinning to himself as Mycroft stopped eating, his eyes wide in disbelief. He relaxed slightly as a dollop was dropped next to the chips, and Greg turned his smile on him. “I’m not a total caveman, Mycroft.”

Letting his eyebrows speak for him, Mycroft resumed eating his steak, bite by methodical bite. He wasted no time on idle chit-chat, all of his focus on apparently filling his belly as quickly as possible. Greg was pleased to see that a bit of the colour was returning to Mycroft’s cheeks as his meal dwindled down to nothing. He was also surprised when Mycroft laid his cutlery down on an empty plate before he had even gotten halfway through his.

Chewing thoughtfully, Greg watched as Mycroft’s eyes lingered somewhat covetously over his plate. Although he could easily finish off his steak, he had a feeling that Mycroft needed it more. “Want the rest? Think I’m getting full.” Mycroft’s eyes darted up to his face, narrowed in suspicion. Apparently he didn’t see anything there but sincerity, and he hastily took Greg up on his offer.

He dabbed at the corners of his mouth when he was done, his eyes fixed on his plate as he fiddled with the napkin. “Thank you. That was very kind.”

“You needed it more than I did.” Greg tried to soften his grin as Mycroft’s eyes darted up to his, uncertain and a little embarrassed. “You’re already looking better.”

“I - feel better. You were quite right to insist.” Greg bit his lip as a little more colour bled into Mycroft’s cheeks, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you, Greg.”

“No problem.” He stood and got himself ready to go, pausing as Mycroft stood as well. “Gotta make sure to keep you in prime fucking shape, don’t we?”

Mycroft snorted out a surprised laugh, waving Greg out without further comment.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a shorter one than usual, but the next chapter will make up for that.
> 
> Loving all the comments - more, please!
> 
> *mmmuah*!

Their ‘meetings’ carried on. Sometimes Greg would get his whole kit off, but mostly he would just drop trou and bend over, letting Mycroft go to town on him. Once or twice he tried to mix it up, pushing Mycroft down on the sofa and sinking down on his lap, riding him for a few impatient minutes. Or laying himself down on the rug, pulling his legs back and holding himself exposed until Mycroft lost control. 

But no matter how he started it, Greg invariably ended up on his belly or his hands and knees, pleading for more as he was fucked without mercy. He was very nearly always finished off by Mycroft’s mouth, hungry and demanding. 

Sometimes they would take dinner together, or chat over drinks in the casual afterglow. Greg treasured the times that he made Mycroft laugh, not even caring if it was genuine, or if he was just putting on a convincing show for him. He was amused to find that Mycroft was rather fond of telling stories of Sherlock’s most memorable mishaps with his junior chemistry set.

Of course the more that Greg learned, the more he liked what he saw, and the deeper he fell, bit by bit. But then, he had known that Sherlock was right when he had confronted him in his office all those weeks ago. Sherlock was always right, wasn’t he?

They were sharing an odd moment of closeness just now, the kind of moment that left a little ember of hope smouldering in Greg’s chest. He was on his back on the leather sofa, stark naked. Mycroft was curled up between his legs, still clothed, of course. Greg hadn’t even caught a glimpse of chest hair yet. They’d probably have to progress to actual kissing before anything as salacious as that would be allowed. 

Mycroft’s auburn head was resting on Greg’s tummy, his breath wafting over his spent cock in soothing waves. Greg dared to reach down to stroke his hair, running his fingers through the soft strands. Mycroft sighed, sinking further into him, and Greg nearly held his breath in an effort to maintain the aura of peace. Of course his back was beginning to ache, and he wasn’t looking forward to peeling his naked arse off this sofa, but my God, they were damn near  _ cuddling _ and he just couldn’t...

Mycroft took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Greg struggled to follow suit, wincing at the sound of his skin peeling off the leather and throwing a glare at Mycroft as he snorted. Something shifted in his face as he licked his lips, his eyes taking on a cunning gleam. Greg, who had been in the process of pulling on his pants, sat back down. 

“The last round of tests came back. We’re both quite clean.”

_ “Yes!” _ Greg didn’t allow himself to feel any embarrassment as he pumped his fist in the air, grinning at Mycroft’s eye-roll. “Best lay in some more towels or get yourself a shag-throw for this sofa, cause it’s gonna get messy up in here next week.”

Greg’s giggles faded as he caught the look on Mycroft’s face, his lips pressing into a thin white line. “Oh.” He started to button his shirt as his spirits fell just a tiny bit. “Conference?” Greg reached for his trousers as Mycroft hummed in the affirmative, something in his tone clearly displeased. “S’okay.” He met his eyes, grinning cheekily. “Gives us more time to prepare for the come-pocalypse.” 

Mycroft huffed as he got to his feet. “You are a truly ridiculous individual.”

Greg fixed his collar and slid his arms into his jacket, turning towards the door. “Hasn’t turned you off yet.”

“You couldn’t turn me off if you tried.” Greg’s heart skipped in his chest as he turned, catching Mycroft looking just as surprised as he felt. It was concealed in but a moment, Mycroft’s chin tilting up so he could look down at Greg imperiously. “I will see you in two weeks’ time. Goodnight, Greg.”

“Yeah.” Greg’s grin doubled as he nodded. “G’night, Mycroft.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since chapter 10 was so short and since I'm interested to know what you guys think of Myc's behaviour... Here is chapter 11 a bit early.
> 
> Kisses! Please do comment!

Greg was oddly buoyed up by the turn their last ‘meeting’ had taken, wondering if the change he felt in the air was real or if it was just his imagination getting the better of him. He still knew better than to expect any wedding proposals, but maybe he could hope to finally see the blasted waistcoat come off, for God’s sake.

Unfortunately, his week plodded on as usual - paperwork, crime scenes - Sherlock pestering him, and even more bloody paperwork. By the time Friday finally rolled around again, the hope had dimmed and reality had stepped in, squashing down his mood. Sipping on his third coffee of the day, Greg sat back and pondered how he might spend the evening.

He could stop by the pub for a pint or two - the Yarders had been asking after him since he had stopped making it a regular thing. Maybe head down to the cinema to see that new spy film that Mycroft had scoffed over... Greg shook his head and bent down over his paperwork once again. Ah, who was he kidding, anyway? He’d go home and order takeaway and eat it in front of his little crap telly in his little crap flat, as per his usual little crap life.

But then - there was always the toy box, wasn't there?

His cheeks burning pleasantly at the thought of the brand-new, shiny black dildo that was waiting for him at home, Greg almost missed the three light raps on his door. He looked up as Sally ducked her head in, immediately getting to his feet as he recognised the silhouette of the man standing behind her. “Visitor for you, boss.”

“Mycr- Er, Mr. Holmes! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mycroft slipped past his escort and reached for the door. “Thank you, Sergeant Donovan. Good day.”

Greg suppressed his snort at Sally’s little, _“Well,”_ as the door was shut in her face. He stood there nervously fiddling with his pencil as Mycroft turned to look at him, his face cool and impassive.

“What can I do for you, Mr...” Greg’s teeth clacked together as Mycroft threw him a chiding look, relief and arousal flooding his system. “Mycroft, what are you doing here?” He strode around his desk as Mycroft reached out to draw the blinds on his inner window, cutting off the view from the observers beyond. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way somewhere?”

Mycroft reached out and yanked him closer, his fingers fumbling at the catch of Greg's trousers. “Straight to Heathrow from here. I couldn’t - not without...” He bared his teeth as he pulled Greg’s trousers and pants down without ceremony, turning him around and shoving him down on the loveseat. “I need this,” was his only comment as he went down on his knees and took Greg into his mouth.

He wasn’t hard, not quite, but that didn’t seem to matter to Mycroft at all as he licked at him, humming low as he rose to the occasion. Greg stifled his groan as he shifted, leaning his head back and spreading his legs as best as he could with his trousers around his ankles. For once, Mycroft didn’t seem intent on simply devouring him, instead taking his time to savour the act. He licked there and nibbled here, sucking his bollocks into his mouth one by one and humming around them, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

He spent a great deal of time simply sniffing at him, burying his nose in Greg’s crotch on either side of his cock, breathing in deep and exhaling in a great rush. Then he finally got down to business, wrapping one hand around the base of Greg’s erection and sealing his lips around the head. Greg bit his lip to keep his shout contained, his eyes flying wide as Mycroft’s free hand came up to close over his mouth.

Greg clutched at Mycroft’s wrist, feeling the delicate bones shifting under his grip, revelling in his strength as he held him down harder. He reached out with his other hand, his fingers scrabbling artlessly at the hair at the back of Mycroft’s neck, until he managed to find a gap. Greg shoved his fingers under the collar of that perfectly starched shirt, needing to feel skin on skin, no matter how meagre a touch it might be.

Mycroft worked him steadily, skillfully stoking the pressure until it reached overload, sinking down to take Greg all the way into his throat as he came copiously. Mycroft suckled at him until he had gone soft, ignoring Greg’s feeble squirming and muffled protests. He nosed around Greg’s flaccid cock, humming low in satisfaction. Greg huffed breath in and out through his nose, his eyes wide as Mycroft came up from his crouch slowly.

He shifted his head here and there as he moved up, winding up with his nose buried in Greg’s neck. Greg moaned into Mycroft’s palm as he sniffed him again, nuzzling behind his ear and purring softly. “Oh, but you smell utterly delectable after you’ve come, Greg. You’ve no _idea_ what it does to me.” Greg whimpered as Mycroft’s tongue flickered out over his temple, capturing the sweat that had beaded on his brow. _“Mmm...”_

Mycroft shifted to look Greg in the face, finally releasing his mouth in favour of gripping his chin. “Tonight, when you’re playing with yourself, I want you to think of me. Imagine me holding you down, fucking you slowly - making you squirm and sweat for me.” Greg panted wordlessly, pinned by the hungry gleam in Mycroft’s grey eyes, feeling utterly helpless. “Imagine me wringing you absolutely dry and then licking you up, drop by delicious drop.”

Greg shivered as his cock twitched almost painfully, a swift welter of heat running through him and making his skin prickle. A fresh wave of sweat popped out over his forehead and Mycroft snarled in feral delight as he ran his tongue along Greg’s hairline. “Oh yes... Just like that.” Mycroft gave him one last sniff behind the ear, pausing to ghost the barest hint of a kiss over the corner of Greg’s mouth. “See you next week.”

And then he was gone, leaving Greg all alone in his office, the sweat dampening his shirt making him shiver all over. Once his brain had rebooted itself, he abruptly realised that he was still hanging out of his zip and he hastily put himself back together. Sinking back into his desk chair, Greg tried to bring his focus back on his paperwork, but the feel of Mycroft’s tongue lingering on his skin made that task all but impossible.

What was even more difficult to forget the kiss. As brief and as gentle as it had been, it had further stoked that little ember of hope, and it sustained him through yet another interminable week. Not a day went by that Greg didn’t think of Mycroft’s lips on his skin; that he didn’t wish that he had turned his head, just the tiniest little bit.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jaws theme increases*
> 
> Love you all madly - please comment!!

By the time Friday rolled around yet again, Greg had very nearly psyched himself up to just _take_ that kiss, dammit. He would push Mycroft up against the wall and he wouldn’t let him wriggle away, no sir. After all these weeks of essentially laying himself out like a sex doll, he was _owed_ that bloody kiss.

_Too fucking right!_ Greg slammed his pen down on his desk as he sprang to his feet, almost immediately falling right back into his chair with a startled squeak as a figure loomed up in his doorway. He blinked up at Mycroft’s driver gormlessly. He’d only seen his face in passing, but it was impossible to mistake the broad shoulders in that neatly-pressed uniform, as he’d become very familiar with them as he’d been ferried to and fro.  

He blinked again at the man that was easily six-foot-three, maybe even a bit more, at the squareness of his jaw and span of his hands, and knew that this was someone he would not like to come up against. Even if he left the odd concealed weapon or two behind... The driver smirked slightly as Greg’s eyes lingered on the cut of his jacket, as they flickered over each convenient hiding spot.

He inclined his head slightly. “Mr. Holmes was hoping you could join him earlier this evening.”

Greg’s face twisted as he tried not to laugh at the timbre of the driver’s voice, so deep and tolling that he almost felt it in his own chest from across the room. “D’they call you Lurch or summat?”

The man snorted out a quick laugh. “George, actually.” He took a step forward and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Detective Inspector.”

Greg internally sighed with relief as his hand was enveloped in an uncompetitive grip, shaking his head slightly. “Greg, please.”

George smiled broadly. “Greg.” He glanced over the usual mess of Greg’s desk. “Are you available?”

“Yeah, just...” Greg stepped back to his desk, shifting some papers about and shutting off his computer. He obviously didn’t know the man at all, but there was something tightly concerned underneath his professional demeanour that was making Greg feel a bit nervous himself. He gathered up his mack and made sure his mobile was tucked away in his pocket. “Is he alright?”

George hesitated as Greg stepped past him, watching as he shut up his office. “It’s best if you just come and see for yourself.”

Well, that just made Greg move a bit faster, tossing a, “Something’s come up, see you Monday,” at Donovan as they passed her desk. He’d probably get shit from her later for leaving at four o’clock on a Friday afternoon, but to hell with it.

He fretted silently in the back of the car, his distraction preventing him from immediately noticing that they were heading in the opposite direction of the club. Greg opened his mouth to protest, but George met his eyes in the rearview mirror and he calmed himself. The man obviously knew what this business was all about better than Greg did, so he should just shut up and let him do his job.

They pulled up in front of a row of townhouses, and George nodded to one in the middle. He passed a little piece of paper over his shoulder, and Greg unfolded it to find a series of letters and numbers. “Door code. It’ll be changed in the morning.” Greg just blinked at him blankly. “Go on - he’s expecting you.”

Greg trotted up the steps, trying to affect an outwardly calm demeanour in the hopes that it would tame his roiling gut. He carefully typed out the code on the box next to the door, taking in a deep breath as the lock audibly clicked open. Stepping inside, he took just a moment to assess before closing the door behind him, listening for that reassuring click before stepping further in.

A quick glance to the left revealed a kitchen worthy of one of those home improvement magazines. It was shrouded in shadows now, but would no doubt gleam in the bright light of morning. Straight ahead was a staircase, and off to the right was a sitting room. There was a flicker of firelight within, and Greg knew that was where he would find Mycroft.

He hung his mack up on the nearby coat rack and toed off his shoes, mostly to be polite, but also in the hopes that it wouldn’t be a short visit. Greg paused in the doorway, looking at the profile of the man standing in front of the fire. He was startled to see that Mycroft was in pyjamas, with a plush terry robe pulled up snug around his neck. As Greg rounded the sofa, he took note also of the slippers that Mycroft was sporting, leather with wool shearing.

Coming closer, he was discomfited to see Mycroft shivering minutely, and he fought the impulse simply to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight.  “Mycroft?”

The impulse doubled as Mycroft turned to look at him, revealing that same gaunt face as three months past. His eyes were little more than marbles in the hollows of his skull, glittering almost madly as he watched Greg’s face turn down in horror. His skin was pale as before, as translucent and with the same appearance of wax paper.

Mycroft grinned, a sickly thing on that face, seeming to take some delight in Greg’s reaction. He tightened his arms around his chest and took a half-step closer to the fire, staring blankly into its cheery light.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much speculation! 
> 
> It does my heart (and the muse) good to see my readers bouncing ideas off each other - do it some more, please!
> 
> ~xoxoxo~

Greg could almost feel Mycroft withdrawing from him, despite the progress that he felt they had made in the past few months. But he’d be damned if he let that happen. Stepping closer, reaching out carefully, he put his hand to Mycroft’s cheek and turned him back to face him. He looked, really looked, at the man he had fallen in love with, willing him to see the true depth of his feelings.

“What have they done to you?”

Mycroft snorted, reaching up to take Greg’s hand away. He didn’t let it go, however. “ _They_ have no knowledge of this. This is - personal, not work.”

Greg gently chafed those ice-cold fingers in his, bringing them up to his mouth and exhaling hot breath over Mycroft’s knuckles. “Can you tell me?”

Mycroft shrugged helplessly, his eyes darting over Greg’s face and down to their entwined fingers. “I shouldn’t. I doubt you would even believe it.” His lips trembled minutely, a swift shudder of cold wracking his body. “B-but if there’s any-anyone, I do be-believe it would be you.”

Greg smiled against Mycroft’s palm and kissed the inside of his wrist, running his nose over his pulse-point. “Sherlock knows.”

“Naturally.” Mycroft’s face softened as he watched Greg gently playing with his fingers. “He also knows not to interfere.”

“Can’t trust me not to rush off and do something foolish, is that it?”

Mycroft huffed out a nearly silent sigh. “You take risks for the people you care about.”

Greg almost laughed, thinking of all the times that Mycroft had used his influence to pull his brother’s arse out of the fire. “And you don’t?”

Mycroft tugged his hand free, once again wrapping his arms around himself and staring into the crackling flames. “Even if I could tell you - if you’d even believe me - it’s not my life that would be at risk. It’s... This is dangerous knowledge, Greg.” He glanced aside, and Greg again had the feeling that he was slipping through his fingers. “Maybe I’m asking you not to pry because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“And maybe that’s a choice I’d like to make for myself, you great prat.” Mycroft stiffened as Greg reached for him, but as soon as he wrapped his arms around him, he moulded himself into the embrace. Greg rocked him, swaying gently in place until the worst of his shivering abated. “Just think about it, okay? I want to help.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

The words were muffled into Greg’s neck, but he heard them clearly nonetheless. “Bullshit.” He squeezed Mycroft tighter. “Now. Why am I here, Mycroft? What do you need? Food? An hour-long soak in a nice hot bath? Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

Mycroft pulled away slightly, and Greg could see clearly what he needed - reassurance. He also knew that Mycroft couldn’t ask for it. He needed to be shown, not told. Mycroft needed to know that Greg still wanted him, however he may look, however or - whatever - he might be.

Greg felt that he was up to the task, and he set out to prove it. He reached up to cradle Mycroft’s face, running his thumbs along the hollows of his cheeks. Telegraphing his intent as clearly as possible, Greg tilted his head as he drew Mycroft down into him, smiling fondly at the softly surprised, _"Oh,"_ that was uttered into his mouth before he pressed their lips together.

Mycroft opened himself to him eagerly, his breath hitching in excited little gasps with each pass of Greg’s tongue. Greg’s brain was very nearly vibrating with the desire to push Mycroft up against the wall, to tug at his hair and tear at his clothing, to bite and to take, but he forced himself to go slow. To explore, to show Mycroft that he was in it for the long haul, that this was no longer just about instant gratification. 

He was fairly sure that Mycroft understood as he responded in kind, his excitement tempering to match Greg’s slower pace. Mycroft rumbled low as Greg withdrew, sucking gently on his bottom lip as he tipped their foreheads together.

“Fuck,” Greg breathed against Mycroft’s lips. “We really should have done that a long time ago.”

“I was afraid to.”

Mycroft’s voice was barely a whisper, and Greg ran his fingers up into his hair as he shrugged helplessly. “Why? Afraid I’d bite?”

“Afraid I would. Sink my teeth into you and never ever let go.”

“What makes you think I’d want you to let me go?”

“Greg...” Mycroft’s lips trembled as they moved over Greg’s face, pressing soft, butterfly kisses over cheek and temple and the bridge of his nose. His fingers were just as fluttery, but they still did an admirable job in stripping Greg of all his clothing as quickly as possible.

Greg chuckled as he was pushed backwards toward the sofa, counting on Mycroft to guide him as he tipped his head back, granting easier access to his neck. Mycroft made a low noise of anguish as he nibbled on the taut tendons, his teeth somehow sharp and gentle all at once. Mycroft fumbled with something behind him, and Greg let out a little huff as he was pushed unceremoniously onto the sofa.

He grinned as he fingered the plush blanket that had been draped over the leather. “Glad you were thinking ahead.” Mycroft blushed as he shrugged, his demeanour somewhat shy as he reached for the tie of his robe. “How do you want me?”

“Just like that.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets that reassurance he was looking for...
> 
> Please do continue to comment - I adore all the speculation and cheering for these two goofballs!
> 
> ~xoxo~

Greg quirked an eyebrow, his impending query melting away as Mycroft quickly shoved his pyjama bottoms and pants down, stepping out of them and moving to straddle his thighs. He may or may not have let out an unbecoming squeak as their erections brushed together, but Mycroft didn’t seem to notice as he was busy rummaging in the apparently voluminous pockets of his dressing gown.

He let out a soft sound of triumph as he located the small bottle of lube, holding it aloft in victory and giggling faintly. Popping the lid, he turned it over and cursed as it dribbled out in a swift stream, the heat of the fire having liquefied it a bit. Greg groaned as Mycroft shifted and squirmed in his lap, their cocks sliding slickly against each other.

Mycroft bit his lip, apologies in his eyes as he tried to wipe up the excess lube with his fingers, muffling his own sounds of pleasure. Greg watched with wide eyes as Mycroft shifted again, planting one hand on his chest as he pushed himself up on his knees, tilting his hips up as he slid his other hand between his thighs and up into his body.

“Fuck.” A wave of heat flooded Greg’s belly as Mycroft hummed in acknowledgement, his eyelashes fluttering with each push of his fingers. Greg ran his hands up Mycroft’s pale thighs, the lean muscles pulled tight as he prepared himself hastily. “Mycroft...” He dared to reach a bit further, cupping Mycroft’s buttocks and giving them a squeeze. “You sure about this?”

Mycroft shivered as he pulled his hand free, reaching between them to take Greg’s cock in a proprietary grip and adding more lube. “I never do anything unless I am one hundred percent sure.” He tugged, and Greg slid down to make more room for his absurdly long legs, holding his breath as Mycroft shuffled closer and began to sink down onto him. His fingers reflexively tightened around Mycroft’s hips as he bore down around him, the pressure in his lungs making his vision go a bit spotty.

They both let out a breath as Mycroft settled, their eyes meeting and then skittering away from each other as they shared a small smile. Obviously this was a departure from their usual pattern, but Greg felt that it was something a bit more monumental than just a change in position. It was Mycroft allowing himself to be vulnerable, to be open with him, and of course he would never intentionally betray that trust.

He ran his hands around and down, squeezing gently at the globes of Mycroft’s bum, letting his fingers wander inward until they were tickling at the place where they were joined. Greg let a tiny moan slip through as Mycroft shivered around him, his eyes fluttering beautifully. He ran his fingers over the puckered flesh, rubbing firmly around Mycroft’s stretched hole.

He hummed low as Mycroft rolled his hips against him. “Good?”

Mycroft sighed. “Good Lord, _yes_.” Greg snorted out a quick burst of laughter, and Mycroft smiled shyly even as he clenched down around him. He reached out to grasp the back of the sofa, ducking to put their foreheads together. “Fuck me, Greg.”

Greg wrapped his arm tight around Mycroft’s waist and yanked him down as he pushed up with his legs, swallowing up the little huff of breath that was pushed out of his lungs with the force of it. Mycroft growled as he lifted himself up slightly, squeezing at Greg’s cock and grunting with each jolt of his body.

In between messy kisses and bestial vocalisations, Greg kept up a steady litany of lascivious praise, whispering hotly in Mycroft’s ear. “Wish I could see that beautiful hole stretched around my cock, you feel so good - Christ. Feels like such a sweet virgin arse, so hot and so tight... Bet you didn’t let the others do this to you. Oh no, you saved this for me, didn’t you, you darling little beast? Wanted me to be the one to violate you - to fill you up and make you mine.”

Mycroft whimpered, shaking and nodding his head in equal measure, throwing it back and exposing his neck. Greg had no choice but to go for it, setting his teeth into the pale flesh, snarling softly and licking up to Mycroft’s jawline. He nibbled at it gently in between each upward thrust. “Mine. I want you to be mine, Mycroft. Such pretty white skin you have - I want to mark it, yes, claim you, take you and I want you to take me in return, make me yours.”

Mycroft’s eyes flew open as his mouth began to tremble, and Greg could feel the beginnings of his orgasm from deep within, so he pushed even harder, wincing slightly as elegant fingers wound tight into his hair and yanked his head back. He jerked as Mycroft moved to sink his teeth into his neck, as quick as a striking viper. He bit down hard as his cock pulsed between their bodies, and the shock of the pain combined with the wild convulsions of his body swiftly brought Greg to his finish. He hissed low as Mycroft squirmed against him, still sliding up and down and rocking forward, riding out the very last vestiges of his pleasure.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's for some snuggles? (Our boys, that's who!)
> 
> Kiss kiss to all my lovelies - please do comment!

Greg countered by sliding his fingers down again, probing at Mycroft’s swollen rim none too gently, easily slipping one finger in next to his slickened cock. He pushed it in as far as it would go, wiggling it around, tugging at the puckered flesh and stretching it even further.

“Ah, f-fuck!”

Mycroft froze, his spasms finally quieting as Greg stroked him from within. He slipped another finger in as his cock started to wilt, humming low. “Too much?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Mycroft tilted his hips back into his hand, opening himself up for more. Greg continued to massage him even as his cock slipped free, smiling into Mycroft’s hair as he sighed and melted against him.

“I do believe that you will be my undoing.”

Greg kissed his sweaty forehead. “We’ll undo each other.” He softened his gaze as Mycroft sat up a little creakily, reaching up to tweak his chin. “And then we’ll remake each other too.”

Mycroft frowned slightly, his cheeks blazing red, as he began to rummage in his dressing gown again, eventually pulling out the ubiquitous package of sanitary wipes. Greg giggled breathlessly as he was wiped clean, petting at Mycroft’s thighs as he kept his eyes fixed on his task, clearly fighting back on his own amusement. Once the bundle of soiled wipes had been discarded, Greg let out a soft whoop as Mycroft took hold of his shoulders and twisted them to the right while shifting his hips to the left, effectively tossing him flat on his back on the sofa.

Greg obligingly lifted his chin as Mycroft burrowed into his neck, reaching out to tug at the blanket until it more or less covered them even though the dressing gown was doing an adequate job on its own. He could feel Mycroft trembling minutely against him, but he wasn’t sure if it was another attack of the chills, or if he was just processing their latest encounter. Either way, he willed himself to be whatever Mycroft needed in that moment - teddy bear or human heater. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft as he shuddered hard, cradling the back of his head and holding him to his chest.

“We should get you something to eat.” Mycroft’s response was muffled into Greg’s skin, but it was all too easy to parse out his denial. “C’mon - it helped the last time.”

Mycroft lifted his head. “Later.” He snuggled back down with a little grumble, and Greg had no choice but to give in, settling down for decidedly persistent cuddles. Greg fought valiantly against his own eyes drooping, but Mycroft’s rhythmic breathing was impossible to resist.

He awoke positively boiling, barely just stopping himself from pushing Mycroft away from him and onto the floor. Moving as covertly as possible, he extracted himself from floppy limbs, clambering over Mycroft’s limp body and slipping onto his knees at the side of the sofa. Greg gently brushed the forelock away from Mycroft’s face, looking at his pinkened cheeks and listening to his frankly adorable snoring. Each exhale carried the softest hint of a growl, and his lips twitched up into a snarl once or twice, showing his teeth.

_'Jesus. If I didn’t love him before...'_

Shaking himself out of it before Mycroft might wake and catch the dopey look on his face, Greg sought out his pants and slipped them on before going to check out the kitchen. He whistled low as the lights came on, reaching out to run his fingers over the gleaming stainless steel of a truly impressive range. Six gas burners and a grill plate in the middle, with an oven worthy of a gourmet cooking show. Greg quietly familiarised himself with the layout, realising that Mycroft’s methodical turn of mind would naturally carry over in every aspect of his life.

Of course there wasn’t even a junk drawer in sight - everything had a purpose and was neatly tucked away exactly where it belonged. Greg grinned to himself as he reached for the handle of the fridge. Shaking his head, he paused in front of the open door and surveyed the contents. There was the usual jumble of condiments; the obligatory pint of milk and block of butter as well as some eggs. One or two lagers were pushed to the back, and a bottle of white wine was chilling in the door as well as a carton of orange juice. But there was very little else. Opening the crisper revealed some wilted spinach and a very sad looking head of broccoli.

Frowning slightly, he reached for the meat drawer and pulled up short. Greg blinked down at the rashers of bacon nestled next to packages of sausages, as well as two porterhouses and a promising bundle wrapped up in butcher paper that rather disappointingly turned out to be liver. Greg lifted one of the steaks out, remembering how quickly Mycroft had recovered after eating one the last time.

“My body processes protein quicker than most.” Greg whirled around, the steak nearly dropping from his fingers. He set it aside as Mycroft shuffled just a bit closer, his eyes darting about the kitchen. He nodded to the various tubs of protein powder lined up on the worktop. “I’ve tried just about all of the supplements out there, but animal protein is still the most effective.”

Greg placed a hand on Mycroft’s chest as he moved closer still, pressing his palm over the faint beating of his heart. “Is that why you’re sick? Wherever you go, whatever you do, you can’t get what you need?”

Mycroft hesitated before nodding slowly. “That’s a - factor, yes. Without external sources of protein available, my system starts to break down the internal sources instead.”

Greg looked up into Mycroft’s face, his expression so miserable that he physically felt a tug at his heart. “We don’t have to talk about it. Let me cook for you, Mycroft. I’ll feed you and then I’ll tuck you into bed and then...”

“Stay.” Mycroft bit his lip almost shyly, his hands stealing around Greg’s waist. “Don’t go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two... They will absolutely be the death of me.
> 
> (And some of you too, I think!)
> 
> Please comment - the muse is loving all the speculation!
> 
> ~xoxo~

After the steak had been cooked (on the redder side of medium-rare) and consumed in nearly record time, Mycroft took Greg by the hand and led him up the stairs. Tugging him into the bathroom, he gave him a spare toothbrush and left him to do his business in privacy. When Greg passed him in the hall on the way to the bedroom, Mycroft reached out and snapped at the elastic band of his boxers. He paused in the doorway, slightly startled by the playful and somewhat affectionate gesture.

Mycroft glanced over his shoulder, nibbling on his bottom lip coyly even though his eyes were blazing with that familiar hunger. Greg shivered as he realised that the gesture hadn’t been playful so much as it had been a demand.

Greg skipped back into the room and eagerly slithered out of his pants, leaving them on the floor at the foot of the bed. Slipping in between cool sheets, he propped up the pillows so that he was as artfully arranged as possible. Mycroft’s lips pursed in amusement as he looked at him, slowly untying his robe and hanging it on the back of the door. Greg pulled a little pout when the pyjamas didn’t follow, but Mycroft ignored him with supreme indifference.

He left one bedside lamp burning and crawled over the bed on his hands and knees, ducking his head to lay a fierce kiss on Greg’s lips. Greg wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s neck and pulled him down so that their bodies were flush against each other.

They kissed and writhed, moaning low as they snatched brief gasps of air. After a bit more squirming it was clear that both of them were in rather desperate straits. Mycroft nipped at Greg’s chin as he started to move down, but he locked his arms around him and flipped them.

Mycroft’s eyes were wide as Greg sat up across his thighs, his erection dribbling copiously onto his fancy pyjama bottoms. Greg licked his lips as he caught the tiniest little peek of Mycroft’s cock sticking out from the waistband.

“Me first. Let me taste you, Mycroft. Wanted to feel you on my tongue from the beginning.” He pressed his palm to Mycroft’s groin, grinding his heel into the base of his cock. He showed his teeth as Mycroft groaned, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up into his touch. “Please, oh please...”

Mycroft paused, blinking rapidly as he contemplated Greg’s request. “Together?”

Greg tilted his head as his fingers played along the waistband of Mycroft’s pants. He bit his lip, feeling his cheeks practically burst into flames. _‘Oh, sweet Christ, does he want...’_

Mycroft’s lips turned up into a wicked grin, and he grabbed a couple of pillows to prop up his head. “Greg. I want you to turn around, and back that arse up.” One eyebrow arched. “Now.”

_“Jesus.”_

Mycroft pursed his lips to keep his laughter contained, twirling his finger in a nonverbal demand. Greg scrambled to obey, awkwardly shifting on his knees until he was looking down Mycroft’s long legs to his almost absurdly skinny feet. His toes curled under Greg’s scrutiny, and he curbed his desire to reach out and touch, to tickle and explore.

Greg yelped quietly as cold fingers closed around his hips, yanking him up to Mycroft’s face. He shivered at the feel of hot breath huffing over his hole, retaliating by plunging his hand into Mycroft’s pants and grasping hold of his cock. Greg grinned at the swift shudder that raced through the body lying prone underneath him, hunkering down and lapping at the moisture beading up on the tip. He moaned at the first trembling touch of Mycroft’s hot tongue, ducking his face into the cradle of his groin.

Greg squirmed against Mycroft’s impacable hold, rolling his hips in tiny aborted motions at every wet lick. He rubbed his cheek up Mycroft’s shaft, opening his mouth wide and taking in as much of him as he could comfortably fit. He abruptly pulled off as Mycroft shoved his tongue in as deep as he could, growling low.

Greg tossed his head back with a loud cry. “ _Christ_ , you don’t play fair at all, do you?” He glanced over his shoulder as Mycroft’s fingers flexed into claws, holding him fast as he withdrew.

“I wasn’t aware that we were playing a game here, Greg.”

Greg hesitated as he looked into Mycroft’s face. He could clearly see the intense hunger that he had come to crave, but also something deeply sincere in Mycroft’s cool grey eyes. Something of a question, but also an offer.

Greg stroked him lightly as he shook his head. “No. No games.”

Mycroft smiled slowly, happily wicked and oh so sharp. “No rules, _n’est-ce pas_?”

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh. “Only winners.”

Mycroft winked and nipped at Greg’s left cheek, his grin somehow sharpening even further at his high shout of dismay. Greg ducked back down and tried to ignore the torment that his hapless arse was being subjected to while he focused on his own task.

Obviously his perspective wasn’t the best, but he found that the angle actually worked quite well if he opened wide and tilted his head just so. Greg slid down until his nose was brushing at the soft, hot skin of Mycroft’s bollocks. He let out a muffled moan as Mycroft’s hips bucked up slightly and he pressed his advantage by sinking down even further.

Mycroft broke away with a gasp before delving back in with a vengeance, and from there they settled into a satisfying rhythm, rocking back and forth into each other, bobbing, sucking and swirling. Either Greg’s skills weren’t as rusty as he believed, or perhaps it had simply been a while since Mycroft had anyone’s mouth on his cock, because it didn’t seem as though he was going to last very long.

_‘Maybe that’s just what you do to him, you stud.’_

Rolling his eyes at his own ridiculousness even as his ego sang with impending victory, Greg redoubled his efforts, his fist squeezing at the shaft as he sucked feverishly on the head. Mycroft pulled away from feasting on his arse, his thighs spreading wide as he pumped his hips into Greg’s mouth. Greg braced himself and slipped one hand down beneath Mycroft’s bollocks, his fingers seeking through the excess of spittle that had dripped from his mouth. He was aiming for Mycroft’s perineum, but with their earlier activities and the general slickness of the region, well, two fingers pushed right in, and he quickly followed it with a third.

Mycroft seemed to seize underneath him, calling out as his nails dug into the solid muscle of Greg’s thighs. “Gre- _ngghghh...”_


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Feels!
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies - please do comment!
> 
> ~xoxo~

Greg shoved his fingers in deeper, wincing slightly as they were subjected to the wild spasms of Mycroft’s body. He also loosened the ring of his lips, knowing there was no way he’d be able to take in all of Mycroft’s considerable load. He licked and sucked and swallowed as much as he could, willingly and even eagerly smearing the rest over his lips and cheeks and chin.

With Mycroft lolling underneath him and panting for breath, Greg fought the urge to rut against his pyjama top. He couldn’t quite resist wiggling his bum, pushing himself up slightly and whimpering. “Myc, Myc - please...”

Mycroft growled and grabbed hold of him again, easily flipping him over and crouching over him. He snarled wordlessly as he licked and nipped at Greg’s face, swiping up his come, rubbing their cheeks together until they were both sticky with it. “What was that?”

Greg whined low in his chest. “Please, oh God, _please..._ Please make me come, fucking hell I need it, I really _really_ do...”

Mycroft seemed to take pity, slipping a couple of fingers into Greg’s well-licked hole, starting to slowly rock them in and out. Greg moaned and rolled his hips, spreading himself wide, clutching at Mycroft’s arm as he rose to meet each thrust. Mycroft hummed in satisfaction, his eyes dark and languid as they lingered over Greg’s messy face.

“And how was your taste, my dear? Did you find me to your liking?”

Greg cracked a little smile, his inherent mischievous streak rearing its head even as his cheeks blazed red. “Found you a bit gamy, actually.” He bit his lip as Mycroft stilled above him, his face absolutely incredulous. “You really should add some veg to your diet. Maybe even a little fruit from time to time.”

Mycroft levelled a look at him that would have quelled any other man, his lips pursing in disbelief. “I’ve had men beaten for less, you know.” Greg grinned up at him, shrugging insouciantly. Mycroft huffed at his outrageous display, shaking his head almost mournfully. “Good thing for you you’re so fucking delicious.”

Greg squealed rather unmanfully as Mycroft descended on him, giving one nipple a vicious tweak with his teeth before he swallowed him down and practically sucked the soul right out of his body via his cock. Greg thrashed mindlessly throughout the entirety of his orgasm, which Mycroft drew out for far longer than necessary, humming and licking and sucking until he had gone completely soft.

Greg shuddered hard as Mycroft finally pulled off with a pop, his fingers twitching as his thigh muscles jumped and jerked erratically. _“Christ.”_

Mycroft chortled as he nuzzled at Greg’s belly, smiling sharply as he tensed underneath his gentle ministrations. “Quite.” He sat back with a low groan, looking down at himself ruefully, his pyjama trousers tangled around his thighs and pubic hair matted with come. He grasped Greg’s hand as he flailed out, pulling him upright and into a soft kiss. “We both look frightful. Come on.”

Greg stumbled blearily after Mycroft as he was tugged into the bathroom, blinking at the flannel that was held out to him. He dutifully bent over the sink and started to scrub at his face, wondering why he wasn’t feeling awkward as hell. When this thing between them had started up all those months ago, it had just been sex - stress relief and nothing more. And now here he was in Mycroft Holmes’ bathroom, washing up before they went to bed - to _sleep_ , of all things.

Greg glanced in the mirror as he straightened up, meeting Mycroft’s eyes for a fleeting moment. He was already looking much better than he had earlier in the evening, the colour restored to his cheeks and more of his usual grace in his movements. Mycroft’s lips quirked up into a smile as he adjusted the tie on his pyjama bottoms, running his hands down his torso.

He clucked his tongue and reached for the flannel still in Greg’s hands. “For Heaven’s sake, you managed to get some in your _ear..._ ”

Greg snorted and held still while Mycroft looked him over critically and wiped away any lingering mess. He boldly reached out to fiddle with the buttons on Mycroft’s shirt, tugging at them gently. “We could - shower?” Something tightened in Mycroft’s face, his lips pulling up into a silent snarl. Greg hastened to reach up to cradle his jaw as he seemed to waver where he stood. “Listen. I just... I know that there’s a reason, yeah? I won’t push, but I want you to know that it’s okay. Whatever it is, it won’t frighten me away. You can trust me.”

“Greg...”

Greg chanced a look up into those stormy grey eyes, his heart twinging as they shimmered with unshed tears. “I want to see you, Mycroft. I want to _know_ you. But only when you’re ready, alright?” He stood there for a moment more as those eyes searched his face, waiting for Mycroft’s hesitant nod before taking hold of his hands and leading him back to bed.

As before on the sofa, Mycroft seemed to be most comfortable sprawled over Greg’s body, his nose pressed into the hollow behind his ear. He hummed low as Greg tangled their legs together, almost purring in contentment.

“I didn’t know it would be like this.”

Greg blinked up at the ceiling, turning his head to brush his lips over Mycroft’s forehead. “How do you mean?”

Mycroft breathed him in deeply. “Do you really want to know why you were the last on my list?”

Greg huffed out a quiet chuckle. “Sure.”

“Because I knew that this would happen - that you would find your way here, and that I would let you in, despite my best efforts.” Mycroft paused, his fingers gently trailing over Greg’s collarbone. “I wanted to keep you at arm’s-length because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Not exactly. Perhaps afraid of change, afraid of what you would come to mean to me. Afraid that I would hurt you, no matter how hard I tried not to.”

Greg tightened his hold, his heart beating so loudly that he was sure Mycroft could hear it. Mycroft continued to stroke him idly, his body tense and attitude watchful. “Well, you know - with all that talk of back injuries and such in the beginning...”

Mycroft snorted and burrowed closer, his spine loosening under Greg’s hands. “Those - encounters - were always deeply unsatisfying for me. It was rather maddening, to say the least. My partners at the time took the brunt of that frustration, to my everlasting shame. But you...”

“Me?” Greg cleared his throat against the warble in his voice.

Mycroft purred again, stretching against him. “Yes, you. You satiate me in a way that nobody else ever has. And yet I constantly find myself aching for more. I do believe that I am well on my way to becoming addicted to you, Greg.”

Greg hesitated only a moment, bolstering his strength through the magic of late-night confessions. “The feeling is mutual, Mycroft. In fact, I’d say that you’re just catching up.”

Mycroft hummed low and wriggled against him, the weight of his body a solid reassurance in the dark.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, they will never get tired of each other. Ahhh... The magic of fanfic!
> 
> Please do continue to comment - the muse is soaking it all up and spitting it back out again in more hot and touching scenes!
> 
> ~xoxo~

Greg slowly came into consciousness with that same sense of reassurance lingering in his mind, even though there was no longer a body draped over his. Instead there was the sensation of being watched, and although his brain sounded an indistinct warning, Greg stretched languidly under that scrutiny. He blinked the haze from his eyes and smiled at Mycroft’s unmoving figure, his eyes glittering faintly in the pre-dawn light. As a bit more comprehension filtered through Greg's half-aware state, he noticed that Mycroft was clutching something in his hands.

Mycroft’s elegant fingers unfurled around the soft sleeping mask, smoothing out the velveteen. “Greg, do you trust me?”

Greg blinked, barely keeping his initial response of, _‘Obviously, you git,'_  tucked behind his teeth. “Of course I do.” He let out a little _whoomph_ as Mycroft descended on him, his fingers roaming over his body as they kissed, squeezing at his arse with abandon. Greg giggled quietly as they pulled away, knocking their foreheads together. “Though I’ll trust you a lot more if you let me go pee before having your way with me.”

Mycroft threw back his head and laughed, something in the sound so delighted and carefree that Greg felt his stomach swoop with joy. He figured that Mycroft didn’t have much opportunity to laugh in his everyday life, and he was determined to make it happen more often. Mycroft was still chuckling as he gave Greg’s behind a little smack, and he slid out of bed and headed across the hall, sashaying his hips from side to side in an exaggerated manner.

Greg relieved himself to the sound of Mycroft’s merriment echoing across the hall, feeling unaccountably proud of himself. By the time he washed up and splashed a little cold water on his face, his cock was fully awake and feeling equally as proud, happily preceding him back into the bedroom.

Mycroft eyed him up and down, licking his lips in anticipation as Greg’s cock jumped up and said hello. He had switched on one of the bedside lamps, and set out a bottle of lube on prominent display. He also had something else in his hands besides the sleeping mask - the tie from his dressing gown.

Mycroft ran it through his fingers as Greg sauntered closer. “I won’t tie it tightly - it’s just for...”

Greg leant in for a soft kiss. “Mycroft, it’s okay. Whatever you need.” He pulled away to look into his eyes. “I do trust you. Really.” He nuzzled their cheeks together as Mycroft stood there, looking dumbfounded. And then he scrambled up onto the bed, kneeling at the edge. He held out his arms. “And I’m all yours.”

“Greg...” Mycroft kissed his shoulder and slipped the mask over his head, ensuring that the straps weren’t twisted or held too tightly. His cool fingers skimmed over Greg’s forearms before the soft material was wrapped around them, being pulled into a solid but comfortable tie.

Greg took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he let himself be pushed and pulled, lying prone over a pillow to cushion his hips. He settled his head down on his outstretched arms, lacing his fingers together and waiting. His heart skipped gently as he listened to Mycroft shuffling around, to the sound of his footsteps and the soft flump of material hitting the floor - the distinct rustle of a shirt being drawn over his head.

Greg’s fingers tightened around each other as he subconsciously tugged against the tie wrapped around his wrists. The intent was clearer now - a nonverbal admonishment, a preference that Mycroft had been hesitant to request - no touching allowed.

Greg forced himself to breathe normally as he felt the mattress dip under Mycroft’s weight, as those wonderful fingers slid up his legs, pushing his thighs even further apart. Greg wiggled down against the pillow, his cock already aching with over-excitement as Mycroft crawled over him. He shivered with delight as Mycroft hovered over him, finally crouching down low enough that his bare chest brushed against Greg’s back.

 _“Christ.”_ Mycroft chuckled a little hesitantly, but Greg could only moan and squirm against him. “God, you’re fucking _furry_ as hell oh fuck _yes..._ ” Greg squeezed his fingers again, not at all surprised to feel them start to tingle at the tips. “More, sweet Christ I want - fucking hell I _need_ you to rub yourself all _over_ me.”

Mycroft hummed somewhat doubtfully, but obligingly began to drag his torso up and down and across Greg’s back, pausing every now and then to nip at shoulder and arm and ear. Greg shuddered and whined, subsiding into a sort of trembling wreck as Mycroft finally laid the whole of his body down on top of him. He languidly sniffed behind Greg’s ear and nuzzled into his hair, running his fingers up and down his arms.

Greg pushed up into him, trying his damnedest to coax at the hardness he felt nestled between his cheeks. “Mycroft - fuck’s sake, what are you doing to me?”

“Do you remember last Friday?”

Greg huffed. “When you attacked me in my office and damn near sucked me blind? Don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

Mycroft hummed low in his ear, giving the lobe a sharp nip. Greg gasped as he felt a wave of heat break out over the back of his neck, spreading downward. “Oh, yes... And do you remember what I said to you?”

Greg moaned quietly. “That you’d wring me dry and lick me all up, oh fucking hell yes give it to me, Myc - _please_...”

Mycroft pushed himself back onto his knees, taking a moment to spread Greg’s cheeks, probing around his entrance. “I seem to recall stating no diminutives when we first brokered our arrangement, Greg.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this one... I had put this aside to write something for the Mystrade Advent thingy but then that was getting out of hand so I ditched it to write a short porny piece but then the Advent thingy was cancelled before the deadline and I just - {insert noise of deflating balloon here}... 
> 
> I guess you can say I lost momentum. But I'm trying to get it back on track, and all your lovely comments usually help me tremendously with that, soooo... 
> 
> Kisses to all!

Greg felt his shoulders go tense. Although Mycroft’s voice was dry, there was a hint of humour underlying the tone, so he forced himself to relax. “Um.”

He jumped and squealed as his right cheek received a resounding smack. “However. Since circumstances seem to have changed and since it’s only happened when you’ve been nearly incoherent with lust, I’ll allow it. For now. See that it doesn’t become a habit.”

Greg bit his lip to keep his grin contained, knowing for certain that if a bit of persuasion was ever necessary, some puppy-eyes and a strategically placed ‘Myc’ just might help his cause. He hoisted up his bum a bit as he heard the lid on the lube click open, enduring another open-handed pop on his arse for his seeming impertinence.

But after that, Mycroft wasted no more time, holding him open with one hand while he aimed with the other, burying himself deep into Greg’s body in one long push.

Greg groaned low, pushing himself up on his elbows and spreading himself wide. “Hnghnn, yes... _Fuck_.” Mycroft hummed, his hands splayed wide over Greg’s arse, holding him exposed as he withdrew in a slow glide. Greg shook his head blindly. “No no no - put it back, I need your cock in me - need you to fuck me, oh please...”

Greg spit out some kind of garbled noise as Mycroft slipped his thumbs into his hole, pulling in opposite directions. “Oh, _Greg._  If you could only see yourself. So open for me, so eager. So _beautiful_.”

Greg wiggled his behind as tantalisingly as he could. “For you, only for you - fucking hell, Myc - _please..._ ”

Mycroft slid back inside, moaning quietly as Greg shivered around him. Bending over his prone form, he nuzzled at the back of Greg’s neck as he slipped his left arm around his chest. Mycroft slid his right hand around and down, his fingers playing delicately along the shaft of Greg’s cock before he took hold of his bollocks in a loose grip.

He rolled his hips sensuously, fucking into Greg with a stately, unhurried grace. “Only for me?”

Greg nodded as he tried his damnedest to entice Mycroft to swifter, harder action by squeezing down around him. “Yours. Have been since this thing started. Didn’t want anyone else - your cock feels so good inside me oh fucking _hell_ , Myc. Want it all the time, want you to fuck me until I can’t move anymore...”

Mycroft chuckled low, still moving slowly but somehow pushing in deeper. He laid his cheek down on Greg’s shoulder, his hips constantly rolling against his arse. Panting heavily, Greg tried to push back against him, but every wiggle was aborted as Mycroft’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his bollocks. Mycroft countered each of Greg’s pained whines with a low susurrus of sound, a sibilant hush or a low, soothing growl.

Greg subsided as he accepted his fate, stretching his arms out and letting his head drop into the crooks of his elbows. Mycroft’s pace increased, but only slightly, his breath huffing out of his lungs each time he bottomed out. Greg groaned as Mycroft rewarded him for his seeming obedience, releasing his aching balls and sliding his fingers up and down his shaft. Greg cried out, feeling the sweat rolling down his neck, and the muscles in his thighs trembled as Mycroft finally - _finally_ \- took hold of his cock in a firm grip.

Mycroft snarled softly as he ran his lips over the back of Greg’s neck, licking up the moisture as he nuzzled at his damp hair. “Mine, oh yes. Smell so good, taste even better, let me taste you, Greg. Lick up your arousal, feel your desire, all of it just for me...”

Greg panted heavily as he tried to keep his hips still, letting Mycroft control everything, the deep, steady thrusts within him, the grip of his fingers and pace of his strokes. “All - oh fuck - all yours, Myc, I swear. _Please_.”

Mycroft shifted his grip, both hands now working Greg’s cock, stroking and squeezing and twisting. Mycroft snarled low, licking at the edge of Greg’s ear. “That’s my good boy. Now come for me - give it all to me.” Greg cried out as he bucked his hips, a brief spurt of ejaculate oozing out before his orgasm even truly hit him. Mycroft cupped his hand around the head of his cock, capturing each substantial pulse.

He continued to fuck him throughout his orgasm, his hips still rolling in that gentle, even cadence. Greg shivered and shook, the ongoing stimulation almost too much to bear, but he kept his whines to himself, determined to win his own prize. But before he could sufficiently collect his wits enough to demand it, Mycroft released his grip on his sticky cock and went up on his knees behind him. Greg felt Mycroft’s right hand on his hip, grasping him hard, but his left - the hand that was cradling his release, that went higher and oh _sweet baby Jesus..._  The obscene slurping noise that echoed through the room absolutely made Greg’s spine twist even as he felt Mycroft’s cock throb persistently within him.

Mycroft growled as he slammed into him with short, hard thrusts and Greg was so relieved he could only babble mindlessly. “Yes, yes, fucking hell give it to me, fill me up so hot and sticky, make me yours only yours, yes yes Myc _please..._ ”

Mycroft shouted as he pulled Greg into him, his nails digging into his flesh as he stilled, his cock jerking deep inside as he came copiously. Greg panted and squirmed, somehow feeling each and every strong pulse, each blast of hot come like a soothing balm within him. Mycroft groaned as his muscles began to relax, draping himself over Greg’s back with a satisfied growl. He immediately began to drag his tongue over the back of Greg’s neck, behind his ear, licking up every drop of sweat that he could easily reach. Greg squeezed down around him, giggling faintly at the squishiness deep inside and also at the tickling touch of Mycroft’s tongue.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More filth, yay! And more to follow, as usual...
> 
> Adore you all, please do comment - it's been a weird couple of weeks for me and I'm hoping to get back into the rhythm.
> 
> *mmuah!*

Greg shivered as Mycroft withdrew, groaning faintly as he turned him over. He giggled again as he shimmied his hips, realising that he had been laid down on a plush towel. He would have made some sort of saucy comment, but Mycroft cut him off with a nip at his lips. He squeaked as his arms jerked, but they were still restricted, and Mycroft reached up to hold them down as he slowly and methodically began to lick the sweat from Greg’s face.

At first the strokes of his tongue were soothing, and Greg simply melted under his attentions, sinking into the mattress. He sighed breathily as he lifted his chin, and Mycroft snarled softly as he began to nuzzle and suck at his neck. He trailed his fingers along Greg’s arms as he continued to move down, scraping his teeth over the shelf of his clavicle and dragging his chin over his sternum. He lavished quite a bit of care and attention on Greg’s nipples, making him giggle and moan in equal measure.

Then Mycroft moved on to Greg’s underarms. At first he only felt a vague sense of bewilderment, but the at the sound of the low growls rumbling through Mycroft’s chest, Greg’s cock gave out a few feeble twitches. He squirmed as the twitches continued to the rhythm of the soft snuffling of Mycroft’s nose through the hair.

“Oh _Greg_ \- if I could only convey exactly what your smell does to me...” Mycroft rumbled quietly as he licked at him.

“I think...” Greg gasped as the sensitive skin of his underarm was given a sharp nip. He pushed his hips upwards, glancing against and then grinding up into a very hard cock. “I think this conveys it very nicely.”

Mycroft growled as he rutted against him briefly, leaving a smear of pre-come cooling over Greg’s skin. After one more nuzzle into the damp hair of his underarm, Mycroft continued on his little rampage, continuing to lick, suck and nibble his way down Greg’s body. His teeth seemed to get sharper with each tiny nip, making Greg’s skin quiver with anticipation at every brush of his lips.

Greg whined unhappily as Mycroft completely bypassed his groin, choosing instead to run his nose down the length of his thigh. He lifted Greg’s legs one by one, licking up the sweat that had dried behind his knees, nuzzling at the firm muscle of his calf and nibbling gently at his ankle bone. Greg spit out a startled giggle as his big toe was subjected to a very thorough lick and suck, so overwhelmed by it all that he completely forgot that he was even ticklish.

The noise in his head all stopped as Mycroft pushed his legs apart and knelt between them, bending down to gently sniff at his crotch. Greg groaned as his back bowed and he spread his thighs wide, involuntarily pushing up into Mycroft’s face. His cheeks flared with embarrassment, but rather than pulling away, Mycroft simply dove in. His fingers closed tight over Greg’s hips as he dragged his nose through the sticky curls, huffing in breath so deeply that it almost seemed like he might hyperventilate.

Greg moaned as Mycroft mouthed at the base of his cock, as he very thoroughly cleaned the sweat and traces of come from his bollocks by sucking them in one by one and rolling them around in his mouth. Greg grunted with surprise as Mycroft’s hands hoisted his bum up high, his fingers spread wide over his cheeks, holding him open. He shivered so hard at the first flickering touch of Mycroft’s tongue along his perineum that he wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t imagined it.

But then that wicked, utterly delightful tongue dipped even lower, firmly flattening itself against his hole. Greg gasped, unable to convey anything beyond his eagerness with awkwardly aborted thrusts of his hips. Mycroft’s fingers tightened on his flesh, holding him in place as he licked him clean. His grip loosened as Greg cried out in dismay, seemingly taking pity on him as he laid him back down on the bed.

The heat of his breath washed over Greg’s cock in a soothing wave, somehow serene and ragged all at once. The beating of Greg’s heart in his ears almost obliterated the whisper of his name, reverent and needy - desperate.

Greg felt his lips turn up at the sound, fighting to control his own breathing as he flexed his muscles, making his cock jump. He could feel the steady trickle of pre-come oozing from the head, smearing itself all over his lower belly as he made it dance again to the sound of Mycroft’s almost subaudible whimpers.

“You need it, don’t you?” Mycroft growled faintly in answer, his tongue flickering over the sticky trail that his cock was leaving on his skin. “Need my load sitting hot and heavy in your belly.” This time the growl was louder, and Greg distinctly felt a swift dribble of saliva wending its way over his skin. Mycroft was desperate, right enough, but he was also oddly polite, and Greg felt such a wave of fondness wash over him that his flesh prickled with it. He showed his teeth as he nodded. “Go on, then. You’ve done a good job - you deserve a treat.”

Quick as a flash, Mycroft was on him, his mouth hot and wet, working his cock like it was the last thing he’d ever have on his tongue. Greg panted and squirmed as Mycroft’s hands roamed indiscriminately, his long fingers tweaking at his nipples and caressing his bollocks, squeezing at his thighs and love handles. He sucked gently on the head and slid all the way down, deep-throating Greg’s cock like a pro and swallowing around him before pulling off and doing it all over again.

Greg’s arms jerked with the need to bury his hands in Mycroft’s hair, to hold him down, to listen to him choke in between his breathy snarls and growls of delight. But he wanted to show that he was trustworthy, so he clasped his bound hands into his own hair instead, throwing his head back as he bounced his bum against the mattress. Mycroft took in a deep breath and pushed himself down deeper, humming low in his chest as Greg spit out a warning.

And then there was nothing but pressure and heat and overwhelming bliss, and if Greg’s eyes weren’t already covered he was rather sure that he would have lost his sight for just a moment. Mycroft purred around his hefty mouthful, sucking down Greg’s gift to him, pulling off with a satisfied smacking of his lips. He nuzzled at Greg’s sticky, fat cock, gently licking him clean as he ran his fingers down his body in a soothing, calming rhythm.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to this one for a little bit! I have so much of the ending already done that I'm hoping to bridge the gap soon...
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies, please do comment yadda yadda... The muse thanks you!

Once Greg had managed to catch his breath, he blindly tipped his chin upward. “Oi. C’mere, you.”

Mycroft laughed quietly, bestowing one last kiss to the head of Greg’s wilted cock before crawling up his body. He angled his hips away as he bent down for a kiss, but in the midst of the heady snog, Greg pushed up into him anyway, grinding against Mycroft’s throbbing cock. 

He growled under his breath as Mycroft nipped at his lips viciously. “Give it to me.”

“Greg...”

“Take me, Mycroft. Use me. Want to feel you inside me again. Need to feel you come.”

Mycroft whimpered, subconsciously rutting into him. “But you just - sensitive.”

Greg wrapped his legs around Mycroft’s waist, pulling him in closer. “Don’t care - want to feel you go feral on me. Want to feel you for days. Fuck me, you beast.” Still, Mycroft hesitated, and once again Greg felt warmth fill his chest. “I can take it, Myc.”

Mycroft huffed, briefly burying his nose in Greg’s neck. “I’m not sure that  _ I _ can.”

_ “Please.” _

“Good God, but you’re a tramp.”

Greg giggled in relief as Mycroft pulled away, feeling the mattress shake underneath him. His laughter turned into a quick shout of dismay as he was abruptly yanked sideways over the bed. His legs dangled over the edge only long enough for Mycroft to slick up his cock, and then he suddenly found himself nearly bent double as his knees were pushed up toward his chest.  

Mycroft slid into him as easy as breathing, and Greg practically held his as he was put to his desired purpose. Mycroft gave no quarter as he pounded into him, ruthlessly using his body to seek his own pleasure. Greg put the binding around his wrists to his mouth, biting down to muffle the squeaks of displeasure that were coming out unbidden with each hard thrust. He held himself still, his entire body tensing as he listened to Mycroft’s grunts of effort, feeling each stroke like a stab deep into his body. 

Greg whimpered, running a silent mantra through his head to help see him through as Mycroft’s rhythm ramped up almost unbearably.  _ ‘For him, this is for him, I’ll give him everything in me and take everything he needs to give in turn, for my love, my beast.’ _

Greg was abruptly jolted out of his head when Mycroft slammed himself in, deep and hard, grinding into his body as he groaned out his release. Greg squirmed against him, too overwhelmed to even feel that hot rush inside, his arse positively throbbing in protest. He hissed quietly as Mycroft withdrew and carefully lowered his legs, reaching out to pull Greg up into a sitting position at the edge of the mattress.

A sob escaped unbidden as Mycroft cradled his face, pressing soft, trembling kisses to Greg’s dry lips. “So strong and brave, so beautiful.”

Greg felt an odd welter of pride rising up in his chest as Mycroft praised him, sniffling back any more tears. “For you, Myc. All for you.”

Mycroft moaned quietly, burying his face in Greg’s neck as he rocked their bodies together. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but I’ll never mock Fate again for putting you in my path.”

Greg sucked in a breath as he shifted against the towel still under his bum, biting back on the curse that lingered on his tongue. Mycroft hummed and carefully laid him back down, stroking over his quivering legs. “Mycroft, I...”

“Hush, lie still. I’ll be right back.”

Greg tried to stretch out his limbs as he listened to the faint sound of running water, groaning out his discomfort as something in his spine crackled. Another harsh throb from his backside put a stop to his wriggling, and he bit his lip to keep himself quiet. Of course that was when Mycroft returned, huffing out an almost silent sigh. 

“You poor wreck of a man.”

Greg pouted. “Your fault.”

Mycroft clucked his tongue as he gently wiped Greg clean with warm, wet flannels, simply holding one pressed to his puffy pucker to help relieve some of the ache. “No, I shan’t take the blame for this one, my dear. You were rather insistent.”

Greg conceded with a little shrug of his shoulders, fighting back a yawn as he was rolled back under the covers. He reached out blindly with his bound hands, awkwardly patting at the empty space in front of him. “Yes, I was. You used me terribly, as I wanted, and now I want a cuddle.” He smiled sleepily as Mycroft chuckled, the sound deep and breathy. “No, I demand it.”

“So pushy.”

Greg put on his best scowl even as he felt Mycroft crawling back into bed, softening it only when his cool fingers started to tug the tie on his hands loose. He hummed in slight disappointment as Mycroft snuggled in closer, the fabric of his pyjamas brushing against his bare skin. Greg allowed himself to be pushed and pulled into place, gasping with delight as Mycroft carefully and deliberately placed his hand into a gap of his top. 

Greg curled his fingers into the abundant chest hair, barely even aware of Mycroft’s hand around his wrist keeping him firmly in place. No exploring allowed, not at the moment, but that was quite all right. Greg burrowed into the curve of Mycroft’s shoulder, letting the heat of his body and the sound of his heartbeat lead him back into slumber. 

When Greg next woke, he could see, blinking against the light streaming in through the windows at the empty expanse of bed next to him. He rolled slightly, putting his face into Mycroft’s pillow and breathing in deeply. There was still a faint warmth there, and he paused, letting his senses come back online slowly. 

A soft clanking, maybe from downstairs - the kitchen. Pushing himself upright and wincing only slightly, Greg reached out for the neatly folded bundle of clothing at the foot of the bed. He found himself feeling a bit giddy as he realised that it was little more than underwear and loose pyjama bottoms. 

Whatever Mycroft’s plans for the day were, they did not seem to include immediately kicking him out. There was also a freshly laundered towel under the stack of clothing, and as Greg lifted his arm and took a whiff, he recognised that not as a suggestion, but as a demand.

Climbing creakily off the bed and gathering up his impromptu gifts, he shuffled across the hall and went to figure out Mycroft’s fancy shower.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping ahead a couple of months to help move the story along - we're almost in the final act!
> 
> Kisses to you all, please do comment!

Greg shucked off his overcoat, nudging the front door shut with his hip as he hung it up. His shoes were discarded next, and he lined them up next to Mycroft’s oxfords, feeling an odd sense of belonging as he looked down at them. With Greg spending increasingly more time at Mycroft’s townhouse rather than his own flat, they had somehow fallen into a pattern of fragile domesticity together. He wasn’t even sure how much of his wardrobe had already migrated over here, as Mycroft had silently made room for him without either of them really discussing it. 

And now here he was on a Thursday evening, fully intending to stay the night unless Mycroft kicked him out. Greg smirked to himself as he headed toward the sitting room. Since things had become a bit more intimate between them, he hadn’t been chivvied out even once. Maybe it was time he swallowed down his own uncertainty and forged ahead with the ‘what are we to each other and do you want me around all the time or what’ talk.

His stomach was already a little swoopy just with the idea of laying his emotions on the line, so when he was grabbed from behind and pushed toward the sofa, all he registered was a sheer moment of almost blinding panic. But then a very familiar body was pressed up against his, and long, elegant fingers were busy at his zip, and he let out a groan of relief. 

“You bastard. Nearly scared me out of a year of my life.”

Mycroft hummed as he shoved Greg’s trousers and pants down, giving him a little nuzzle behind the ear. “Been thinking about your fine arse all day. Need to fill you up.”

Greg shivered as his belly flared with heat. “Jesus.”

He eagerly spread his legs as he was bent over the arm of the sofa, wiggling against the plush throw that had been purchased for just this purpose. Greg held his breath as he heard Mycroft’s zip being lowered, hoisting up his bum as a slick cock probed at his entrance. They’d been fucking often enough that he didn’t need prep, not really, but Mycroft still took his time pushing into him, relishing that sweet drag as Greg squeezed down around him.

He didn’t draw it out beyond that, though, grasping at Greg’s hips as he fucked him in a steady, satisfying rhythm. Mycroft allowed himself the room to move, his bollocks swinging free and slapping at Greg’s arse with each thrust. Soon enough the squelching smacking noises were replaced with Mycroft’s grunts and Greg’s moans. 

Greg felt Mycroft’s legs trembling against his as his pace increased, clenching down to help speed his lover along to his finish. He snarled in heady triumph as Mycroft cursed and went up on his toes behind him, grinding deep into his body, pumping Greg full just as he had promised. 

Greg pushed himself up on his arms as Mycroft withdrew, almost desperate to feel his mouth on him, but they gave out on him again as his lover crouched behind him and started to lick him clean rather vigorously. Greg shouted and pushed back against a very intrusive tongue, rocking forward again as a spike of pleasure rocketed through his belly. He found himself rutting mindlessly against the sofa, mumbling nonsense as Mycroft snarled behind him, his fingers digging into Greg’s flesh as he tried to keep him in place.

Finally the pressure became too much to bear, and Greg flailed out behind him, grabbing hold of Mycroft’s hair and pulling him off with a hiss. “You’re gonna make me waste it, Myc.”

Mycroft growled and grabbed a fistful of Greg’s shirt, yanking him upright and spinning him in place, sliding his come and spit-slickened lips over his cock. Greg shouted in relief, grabbing hold of Mycroft’s head as he fucked his mouth almost desperately. He babbled out something as he came down Mycroft’s throat, but neither of them was entirely sure what it was.

Mycroft’s hands were pressed firmly over Greg’s arse as he squirmed against him, holding him flush to his face until he was forced to pull off for air. With his chest heaving as he stumbled back, Greg let himself slump over the arm of the sofa, landing with a  _ whump _ on the cushions with his legs dangling over the side. He idly kicked against the trousers still wrapped around his ankles as he listened to Mycroft tidying up his person, staring up at the ceiling with a goofy grin on his face.

Mycroft tutted as he looked down at him, but his eyes were fond and there was an answering smile on the corners of his mouth, so Greg ignored his halfhearted chiding. He grasped hold of Greg’s shoulders and lifted him with ease, sliding onto the sofa underneath him and laying him down in his lap. He stroked Greg’s hair as their heartbeats settled, both of them relaxing into the post-coital silence. 

Greg hummed as he was petted, tilting his head to look up into Mycroft’s face. “What time do you leave tomorrow?”

Mycroft sighed heavily, his smile turning down slightly. “You’ve been keeping track.”

“Of course. So?”

Mycroft slid down a bit in his seat, resting his hand on Greg’s chest, idly fiddling with his shirt buttons. “Far too early.”

Greg bit his lip. “Do you want me to leave?”

Mycroft’s frown increased. “I admit that I do find it more difficult to leave my bed when you’re in it, however...” His smile returned. “I also sleep much better when you’re by my side. To be perfectly honest, I would much prefer for you to stay.”

Greg lifted Mycroft’s hand to his mouth, nuzzling into his palm as his belly swooped again. “You know, if...” He cleared his throat as Mycroft’s gaze sharpened slightly. “If I were here all the time, it might be easier for you to get up every morning. My adorable bedhead notwithstanding, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Mycroft murmured. He watched as Greg played with his fingers, studiously avoiding his eyes. “I...” He tightened his fingers in Greg’s hair briefly. “I must say that my thoughts have turned in the same direction as yours, Greg.” Mycroft smirked as Greg sucked in an excited breath. “Let’s put that discussion on the agenda for when I get back, shall we?”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from surgery and I was finally able to get some writing in, yay! We're so close to figuring out what the hell is going on here...
> 
> Please read and comment, I adore you allllll....

Greg nodded happily, tapping Mycroft’s fingers over his lips. “Deal.” He started to push himself up, grunting with the effort. “Since I’m staying, I’ll go see about getting dinner started.”

Mycroft slid out from underneath him, planting his hand on his chest and pushing him back down. He bent down to press a kiss to Greg’s forehead. “I already ordered in.” He reached down and flicked at Greg’s exposed cock, laughing as he jumped. “You may want to cover yourself before it arrives, you hedonist.”

“Shit.” Greg rolled to his feet, bending down to yank up his trousers. “Think I’ll pop in the shower, actually.”

“Mm.” Mycroft waved him up the stairs without comment, going into the kitchen to pull out the necessary accoutrements required for their meal.

When Greg came back down all scrubbed clean and wearing the same pyjamas that had been gifted to him the first morning they spent together, he was delighted to smell pizza in the air. He detoured into the sitting room rather than the kitchen, leaning up against the doorway briefly as he watched Mycroft primly cutting his pie into small pieces and eating it with a fork. He grinned as Mycroft looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows lifting as Greg snorted at him good-naturedly.

He slipped onto the sofa at Mycroft’s side, sitting cross-legged as he reached for a slice, folding it in half before taking a huge bite. Greg groaned in gastronomic bliss as he chewed, barely registering the plate that Mycroft balanced on his lap to catch any stray pieces of meat that happened to fall off. They sat together in virtual silence, steadily consuming the entirety of the extra-large pie between them.

Although Mycroft continued to cut his into little bites, he still managed to keep pace with Greg as he practically inhaled his half. And of course Greg simply had to snag a couple of the discarded crusts from Mycroft’s plate, dunking them in the extra marinara sauce that had been included in the order and dispatching them quickly.

Greg sat back with a low groan once he finally set his plate aside, patting his rounded belly gently. He smirked at Mycroft’s fondly exasperated side-eye. “I’m gonna have a pizza baby.”

Mycroft snorted, shaking his head. “And that’s another reason for the surprise sex. I knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself with pizza in the house, you glutton.”

Greg pouted, scooting a bit closer to Mycroft and running his hand down his torso. “You ate just as much as I did - where do you put it all, you slim bastard?”

Mycroft laughed quietly. “I suppose I simply have greater capacity than you.”

“We should enter you in an eating contest or summat.”

Mycroft reared back slightly. “How vulgar.”

Greg grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “What if it were an arse-eating contest? You’re pretty damn good at that.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and got to his feet, collecting the plates and empty pizza box. He tried to cast a disapproving glare at Greg, but the stark redness in Mycroft’s cheeks was simply too telling to ignore. After a moment of additional eyebrow-waggling, Mycroft broke out into giggles. “Only if it were your arse, my dear. None other has been quite as juicy or sweet.”

Greg groaned and clutched at his stomach. “Bastard. If I wasn’t so full...”

“Oh, I know.” Mycroft winked and swept out of the sitting room toward the kitchen. “I know.”

 

*****   *****   *****

 

When Greg opened his eyes, it was to the barest hint of pre-dawn light and an empty expanse of mattress beside him. He frowned slightly as he ran his hand over the sheet, feeling out a lingering corona of Mycroft's body heat. It was then that he heard the shower running from across the hall, and an almost dizzying rush of relief cascaded through his body.

Of course Mycroft wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye - he hadn’t even had his breakfast yet.

Greg wriggled out of his pyjamas before rolling over on his belly and burying his face in Mycroft’s pillow. He rutted gently against the mattress, getting himself nice and hard while he waited.

He didn’t have to wait long, as Mycroft tended to be terribly efficient during his morning ablutions. Greg sometimes worried that it was because of him, that Mycroft was afraid of him barging in on him in a vulnerable moment and exposing whatever it was that he didn’t want him to see. He was definitely looking forward to the day when they might be able to shower together, all secrets revealed. But he was also willing to wait for Mycroft to feel comfortable with that, no matter how long it might take.

Greg was shaken out of his musings as the bedroom door opened and Mycroft slipped in, the light from the corridor brightening the room almost imperceptibly. Greg rolled over as he watched Mycroft stalk toward the bed, his collar and shirtsleeves loose, his hair darkened with water, his expression avid.

He reached out to slowly drag the duvet off Greg’s body, his eyes sharpening as he took in what had been prepared for him. Greg shivered as Mycroft growled low in appreciation, his cool hands sweeping up his bare thighs.

“Clever boy...”

Greg grinned and let his head fall back as Mycroft spread his legs and bent down over him. He reached down and slipped his fingers underneath Mycroft’s collar, gently caressing the soft skin of his neck as he nuzzled into his groin.

Mycroft’s movements were strangely tentative, somehow sweet but almost hesitant. His nose was apologetic as he ran it over Greg’s skin, taking in the barest sniffs rather than his usual gasping huffs of breath. His lips were delicate and oddly exploratory, no matter how intimately familiar they already were with every part of him. And his tongue was almost infuriating in its approach, bestowing only the lightest flickers of pressure against Greg’s needy flesh.

“Mycroft...”

Greg lifted his head as Mycroft looked up at him over the head of his straining cock, his eyes cunning but face guileless. He licked his lips as Greg trembled underneath him, blinking languidly as he let his mouth drop open just a tiny bit.

Greg shook his head in near disbelief, but he let go of Mycroft’s neck only long enough to angle his cock, taking him up on his invitation as he slid all the way in. He groaned as he took hold again, holding Mycroft down as he pushed up with his hips, nudging his way into his throat.

He opened his eyes to find Mycroft staring at him with his typically intoxicating predatory gaze, everything in his face sharpened by hunger and lust. So Greg gave him what he needed, watching with glazed eyes as his cock slid between those thin pink lips with every upward thrust, feeling Mycroft’s tongue working against his flesh as his throat tightened around the head of his cock and then _‘God - oh my fucking God yes!’_

Even though Greg still had a solid hold on Mycroft’s neck, it wasn’t he who held him down until every last spasm had passed through his body. He lay, spent and boneless, as Mycroft milked every last drop from his cock, laving his tongue over Greg’s skin in broad strokes.

He let his hand drop from Mycroft’s neck as he crawled up over him, pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead. He ducked down to nuzzle their noses together, huffing out an amused chuckle.

“You taste like pepperoni, my dear.”

Greg gasped in faux outrage, rubbing their cheeks together. “You swallowed my pizza baby, you monster!”

He felt Mycroft’s shoulders stiffen under his hands, but didn’t give him the opportunity to pull away, giggling under his breath as he sucked his earlobe into his mouth. Mycroft squirmed as he laughed, retaliating with a gentle bite at Greg’s neck.

Greg reached up to cradle Mycroft’s face with both hands, his chest suddenly tight. He fought back the quivering in his chin as he looked deep into those stormy grey eyes, biting his lip hard. “Take me with you.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows contracted in surprise and then sympathy. He pressed their lips together even as he shook his head. “I cannot. It would be - inadvisable.”

Greg sniffled back his tears as he tried to put on a brave face. “Then... Be safe. Come back to me.”

Mycroft smiled softly and nuzzled at his ear. “Always.” He reluctantly slipped from the bed, trailing his hands over Greg’s body and pulling the duvet back over him securely. “Try to get more sleep if you can. It really is dreadfully early.” Greg pulled Mycroft’s pillow into his embrace as he paused at the bedroom door. “And feel free to stay as long as you like, please.”

Greg nodded curtly, hiding his face as the door closed, feeling quite ridiculous as his tears soaked the pillowcase.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeee, so close!
> 
> Please read and comment, I adore each and every one of you!  
> *mmmuah!*

Greg surprised himself by managing to last the whole day at the office before allowing his fretting to lead him right to the door of 221B. He didn’t bother to knock, sweeping in and up the stairs, pausing only briefly at the open sitting room door before slipping into the room. He looked down as his foot connected with something soft, gently kicking the plush toy towards a mound of its brethren. Greg smiled faintly at the genial mess on the floor, glancing up as Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Lestrade.” 

Greg lifted an eyebrow at the collection of bubbling liquids that Sherlock was presiding over. “Thought you had agreed to take all that nonsense elsewhere when John decided to move back with Rosie.”

“And neither of them are present at the moment, so no harm done.” 

Greg pulled a face as something sent up a little puff of smoke, waving his hand in front of his nose. “I dunno about that, Sunshine.”

Sherlock coughed discreetly and stepped away, moving to open a window. “Why are you here?”

Greg looked down at his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide any nervous fidgeting. “I... I need to know where he goes. I want to help.”

“My brother is perfectly capable of helping himself. He doesn’t need a caretaker.”

Greg frowned as he looked up, noting the wrinkle of uncertainty in Sherlock’s brow. “Have you actually seen him after one of these jaunts of his? Do you know what it does to him?”

“I...” Sherlock sighed. “No. Not in many years. He was still relatively young when I last witnessed it. I imagine that it has taken more out of him as he’s gotten older.”

“He practically looked like a walking corpse the last time.”

“And he allowed you to be there to see it. To help him  _ through _ it.” Sherlock turned his quicksilver gaze on him. “Interesting.” He took in a short breath as Greg quirked an eyebrow, turning aside to rummage in a desk drawer. “You know that he’ll not be best pleased with you.”

“I’ll deal with that as it comes. I just can’t stand by, knowing that he’s hurting.” Greg took the small device that Sherlock handed him, frowning as he looked it over. “Honestly, I’m getting a little fed up with his whole ‘lone wolf’ bullshit.”

Sherlock barked out a sharp peal of laughter. “Oh, Lestrade... If only you paid more attention to your intuition. It’s surprisingly acute at times.”

Greg shook his head and held up the device. “GPS?”

“The coordinates are preset. Mycroft instructed me to only use it in the direst of emergencies.” Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve never felt the need.”

“And you’ve never taken a peek? You? The man who must solve every mystery?”

Sherlock looked at him steadily, a bit of the cold arrogance melting from his face. “There are times that mystery is safer than knowledge, Lestrade. Especially where my brother is concerned.”

Greg frowned down at the little screen as it lit up. “Scotland.”

Sherlock waved him away impatiently. “I don’t want to know.” He turned back to his modern alchemy, tossing a look over his shoulder. “Go armed.” Greg stopped dead in the doorway, his foot colliding with another plush toy. “You are AFO, correct?”

“Technically, yes, but that doesn’t mean I can just lay my hands on a pistol whenever I feel like it.”

“A hunting rifle would be more appropriate.”

Greg blinked. “Just what the hell is going on up there?”

Sherlock settled his safety goggles back over his face and once again waved him out. “Go away and find out for yourself.”

Greg got on his phone as soon as he was out the door, looking up flights. From his brief glance at the GPS, he figured that Inverness would be the best option. Luckily there was availability on the next flight out and he booked it, wincing slightly at the cost for a same-day flight. Eating cheap for the next month or so was a price that he was more than willing to pay to know that Mycroft was okay, though.

He had just enough time to run back to his flat, grabbing miscellaneous items at random and tossing them into his usual carry-on, a soft duffel bag that he’d had for years. And then he bustled back down to the street, practically stepping out in front of a cab to make it stop for him. 

He fretted some more on the way to Heathrow, oddly feeling even more agitated now that he knew where Mycroft had hied himself off to. He’d been so close all this time - practically within easy reach. Greg sighed heavily as he paid the cabbie and reluctantly joined the security screening queue. All right, so maybe not  _ that _ close, but still. He took the nearly interminable wait to write up a very contrite email to his DCI, explaining that he had been called out of town when his uncle had taken unexpectedly ill. Greg winced as he copied Sally, knowing that he’d be called on his bullshit as soon as he got back, but some things were worth a very thorough bollocking, weren’t they?

As soon as the plane was boarded, he pulled the collar of his coat up and scrunched down against the window, closing his eyes to put on the appearance that he was dead to the world. Greg thought himself a fairly affable fellow, but there was something about idle chit-chat on airplanes that set his teeth on edge - most likely the lack of an escape route.

He actually did manage to drift off somewhere in the middle of the flight, coming to with a start in the midst of a rather detailed recollection of Mycroft’s farewell just that morning. Greg sat up with a little wince as his seatmate - a wizened elderly lady - coughed discreetly. Her censure was short-lived as Greg blushed, pulling his jacket in a bit tighter and tugging it down.

He kept his bum firmly planted in his seat until everyone else had deplaned, finally reaching up to retrieve his duffel and giving himself a swift readjustment at the same time. At least his bloody libido had calmed down his anxiety a bit, and so he was able to seek out the car rental counter with relative ease.

After Greg explained where he was headed, even pulling out the GPS to demonstrate, the clerk handed over the keys to a Land Rover and sent him on his way once he had pledged his first-born as collateral. At first he thought the all-terrain vehicle a bit much, but soon enough he had been directed off the main roads and toward a number of smaller paved paths. Then those gave way to little more than dirt tracks, and his progress slowed to a virtual crawl. 

At that point, night had fallen, and Greg made use of every single light that he could find to illuminate his path. Finally he was able to make out the shape of a dwelling off in the distance, and his fingers tightened slightly on the wheel as he double-checked the GPS. Well, if this wasn’t it, then he was about to give some hermit quite the surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AFO - Authorised Firearms Officer


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite the reveal, but oh so many hints... 
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies, please comment as I adore each and every one!
> 
> ~xoxoxoxo~

Greg frowned as he pulled up next to a nearly identical rental vehicle, just as worn and dusty as his. He surveyed the somewhat squat building with surprise and growing doubt. Constructed of stone and solid wood timbers with an honest to goodness thatched roof, it looked far too primitive to host the illustrious Mycroft Holmes.

But this was where he had been sent, and so Greg squared his shoulders and set out to investigate. He left the vehicle’s headlights on as he peeked around the sides of the hovel, somewhat relieved that there appeared to be no outhouse of any sort. Satisfied that nobody was lurking nearby, Greg retrieved his duffel from the car and turned off the lights. He reeled slightly in the dark, for even though there was a full moon high in the sky, he was still a city dweller and the lack of artificial light heightened his uneasiness.

Swallowing hard, he noted a flickering light in one of the small windows set into the front of the house. Greg headed to the door and lifted a hand to knock, but of course there was no response.  _ Where the hell is he? _

After a nosy peek into the windows to ensure that nobody seemed at home, Greg took a chance and tugged on the door handle. It opened readily, and he quickly stepped in, carefully laying his bag aside. His heart lifted momentarily as he looked at the flames crackling merrily away in an enormous fireplace, but fell again as he looked for any sign of Mycroft.

He was encouraged to note that although the exterior of the dwelling boasted a certain rustic charm, the interior had been updated with modern building materials. The main room was comfortably large, with a sofa and two cushy chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. In the far left corner was a small kitchen area, with just the basics including a small fridge. Greg took a moment to check that out, shaking his head at the meaty contents. Supplies didn’t seem to be an issue, so what exactly was preventing Mycroft from taking care of himself? 

Straightening up, he noticed a door to the left of the fireplace and went to check it out. It turned out to be a bedroom, spacious and yet cosy. Taking a peek in the wardrobe filled in a bit more of the mystery, as the clothes within were definitely of the highest quality, if a bit more casual than Greg was used to seeing on Mycroft’s frame. Ducking into the bathroom, Greg looked in the shower and heaved out a sigh at the bottles lined up. He grabbed at the shampoo just to give it a sniff, his chest suddenly filled with such a longing that it ached. 

He was definitely in the right place, then. 

His spirits somewhat bolstered if still dampened by the utter lack of his lover, Greg contemplated hopping in the shower to revive himself after his journey. He settled on relieving himself and splashing a bit of water on his face instead. Greg cheered quietly when the toilet flushed and the water ran in the sink without issue. He didn’t know what miracle allowed for running water and electricity out in the middle of God’s nowhere, but he was more than willing to take it on faith so long as it continued to work. 

He got himself as settled as he could, slipping his shoes off and testing out the sofa, poking around a bit more and so on. Before too long his stomach was grumbling about its lack of lunch, and Greg decided to cook up some of the hamburger that he had discovered in the fridge. He wasn’t entirely surprised that there weren’t any supplies to make actual cheeseburgers, so he just made do. Rather than wrapping up the unused meat in the open package, he cooked the extra and set it aside for later.

He was still hoping that Mycroft would show up at  _ some _ point, after all. 

With his belly full, Greg built up the fire a bit more, stretching out on the sofa with the extra blanket he had found in the bedroom. Thanking providence for e-books, he scrolled through his queue and chose _Frankenstein_ ; perhaps a bit unwisely. Fatigued from his journey and the lingering anxiety over Mycroft, he only made it through about half a chapter before nodding off.

Greg bolted awake some time in the earliest hours, staring wildly around the room. His breath was heaving out of him, and his heart was pounding in his chest, but he had absolutely no idea why. He sat frozen in place, trying to recall the nightmare that must have wakened him, but there was nothing in his mind beyond sheer panic. 

Greg kicked off the blanket and stood, shaking out his limbs as he started to pace. It helped to clear his mind a bit, and he thought that maybe a little fresh air might help too. But when he got to the door, he just couldn’t make himself grasp the handle. Greg stared at his outstretched hand in disbelief, watching it shake before deliberately curling it into a fist. The tremors subsided as he stepped back, and he decided to take another circuit around the room instead.

His heart had just started to calm itself when he heard it. A ragged cry, a mournful wail off in the distance - although not quite as distant as he’d like it to be. It came again as he shakily walked to the window at the back of the cottage, plastering himself close to the wall as he peeked out. Of course there was nothing but darkness and that lonely, plaintive cry. Greg shivered uncontrollably at the sound, primitive and unearthly, almost phantasmagoric. 

He may have thought himself still asleep and dreaming, except for the cold clarity of his detective’s mind. The terror in his dreams was never this sharp, never quite so unyielding. The howl came again, closer than before, and Greg dropped to his knees under the window, holding his hands over his ears as he curled into a protective little ball. It was a hunter’s cry, and it sent the deepest part of his hind-brain into an absolute panic.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, acutely aware of the sound of movement outside, of inquisitive sniffing and low growls that were terribly familiar, almost frighteningly comforting. Greg flinched as nails scratched at the stonework outside, but whatever it was seemed to quickly lose interest. He remained where he was until he was sure the creature was gone, finally unfurling himself and skirting around the edges of the walls until he got to the fireplace.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation. Of sorts. Nothing too harrowing - Myc's too tired for that!
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies - please read and comment!  
> ~xoxo~

Shaking with both internal and external chills, Greg banked up the fire until it was crackling merrily away. He held out his hands to the warmth, eyeing his duffel warily, but his doubt lasted barely a second. He’d never be able to live with himself if he just walked out. At least now he _knew_ , instead of just suspecting. And what he knew above all else was that Mycroft needed him, and that he’d be damned before he let him down.

Resolved to his decision, Greg was able to banish any lingering fear, thinking instead of Mycroft. Of all the times they had shared breath and pleasure, of all the times that Mycroft had looked at him with laughter sparkling in his eyes. If nothing else, Mycroft deserved the opportunity to tell his story, if he was even able to share.

Heaving out a sigh, Greg shook the tremors out of his hands and curled up on the sofa again. After watching the fire for a few minutes, he pulled the blanket up over his head and tried to go back to sleep. But of course he was only able to drift, his brain on high alert for the slightest noise. So he was already partially awake when he heard the door to the cottage creak open.

Greg sat up on the couch as Mycroft stalked past the fireplace, stark naked, smeared with soil and goodness only knew what else. In the dim light of the rising sun, he saw the shadows of snarled scar tissue on the left side of Mycroft’s torso, and a hint of something similar on his right shoulder. Greg had guessed that an old injury was likely the reason that Mycroft had never let him see him completely uncovered, but he hadn’t expected the damage to be so extensive.

Mycroft glanced in his direction, but failed to truly acknowledge him in any way. His face was almost eerily blank, and Greg swallowed against the sudden sensation of his stomach trying to rebel. He swiftly got to his feet, but Mycroft was quicker, slipping inside the bedroom and firmly shutting the door behind him. Greg got to it just in time to hear the lock click shut, and he lifted a hand to knock, hesitating at a low, miserable noise from within.

It cut off as Greg put his knuckles to the door, rapping softly. “Mycroft?”

A snarl and the sound of footsteps was all he got in return. Greg turned his head as he heard the shower start up, shuffling along the wall and putting his ear up close on the other side. His heart almost seemed to seize in his chest and he slowly slid to his knees, hardly breathing at all as he listened to his lover weeping under the cover of running water.

Greg wasn’t entirely sure how much time passed as the shower continued to run, but he was fairly certain that the water had gone cold some time earlier. It had been such a long time that he was beginning to worry that perhaps Mycroft had passed out, but when he lifted himself off his knees, the water cut off abruptly. He bit his lip, his concern for Mycroft’s well-being warring with his desire to respect his boundaries.

In the end, Greg knew that he simply wouldn’t be able to leave Mycroft be without first checking to see if he was all right. He retrieved the remains of his impromptu supper and waited until he heard the creak of the bed-springs before knocking. “Mycroft?” Greg shook his head at the low growl on the other side of the door. “I have food. Please, let me in. I need to know that you’re okay.” He turned the handle and pushed gently at the wood, smiling grimly as he felt out its weak points. “You know I’ll knock it in if I have to.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Greg almost laughed as he listened to Mycroft grumbling his way to the door, waiting patiently after the lock clicked open for the sound of stomping feet and the rustle of bedding. He peeked in after another moment, hesitating briefly as he looked at the indistinct lump curled up under the duvet.

The mound heaved out a monumental sigh, and Greg finally ventured in, tip-toeing to the side of the bed. He set his plate down on the bedside table and crouched down, tugging gently at the little breathing hole that Mycroft had left in his feathery cocoon. Greg smiled as softly as he could at the scowl that was aimed at him, somewhat relieved to see that Mycroft’s face wasn’t too cadaverous just yet.

“I’m quite upset with you.”

Greg hummed and cut off a piece of hamburger, holding it up with his fingers. “Peace offering?”

Mycroft’s scowl somehow deepened even as he opened his mouth. Greg popped the meat in and cut off another, keeping his face neutral as he acted the part of mama birdie. Mycroft clearly felt that he was behaving just a bit too complacently for the situation at hand, and he snapped grumpily at his fingers. Rather than jerking away, Greg calmly offered the last piece by slipping both it and his fingers into Mycroft’s mouth.

“If it makes you feel better, you can.”

Mycroft impatiently pushed Greg’s fingers away with his tongue, chewing up the hamburger and swallowing as his eyelids drooped. “Later.”

His voice was low and creaky, clouded with weariness and fatigue. Greg leant in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Absolutely. You can chew me to bits after you sleep.” He paused as Mycroft slowly blinked at him, clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. “Can I join you?”

Mycroft’s chin started to wibble as he nodded, and rather than crossing the room and getting into the bed on the other side, Greg ducked under the duvet and crawled right over him. He pulled Mycroft in tight as he began to shake in his hold, clutching at his pyjamas and wrapping both arms and legs around him, his own eyes prickling with heat and moisture.

“Y-you won’t l-leave, will y-you?”

Greg shook his head, running his fingers through Mycroft’s damp hair. “Never in a million years, love. Not even if you try to chase me away.”

Mycroft’s sobs petered off into little hiccoughing sighs as sleep overtook him, and Greg held him tighter as he continue to shake and whimper, even deep in slumber. Feeling too tense to fall asleep properly, Greg drifted here and there, intently attuned to every shift of Mycroft’s body against his own. It wasn’t until Mycroft was completely and fully under that Greg relaxed enough to truly close his eyes.   


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some big words and emotions being dropped here... *Finally*!!
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies - please do continue to comment, it's making the muse very happy!  
> ~xoxo~

All of Mycroft’s familiar little signals woke him some time later, the twitching of his long limbs and the quiet snorts that indicated he’d soon be on his feet. Greg allowed himself a moment to stare dreamily, reaching up to curl Mycroft’s forelock around his finger. Then he slowly and carefully extricated himself, intent on getting some food ready for his ravenous beastie.

He decided on hamburger again, as it was the easiest to cook and to consume. Maybe after Mycroft’s - cycle - was over, he’d be able to handle something more substantial. He was just plating the last patty as Mycroft shuffled in from the bedroom, swaddled head to toe in the duvet. He curled himself up in the corner of the sofa, staring blankly at the dwindling fire as Greg settled down next to him. He busied himself with cutting up the meat, feeling Mycroft’s eyes settle on him.

“You aren’t afraid of me.”

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh and held up a piece of meat. Mycroft took it delicately between his teeth, licking at Greg’s fingertips. “You didn’t see me cowering in here when you were out there singing last night. That’s quite a set of lungs you’ve got, love.” He shook his head fondly as Mycroft scowled, reluctantly taking another morsel from Greg’s fingers. “How could I be afraid of you?” Greg leant in to kiss Mycroft’s forehead as he showed his teeth. “You’re nothing but a great ginger puppy.”

Mycroft’s cheeks blazed as he chewed his hamburger, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “You aren’t surprised, either.”

Greg sat silently for a few moments, still offering Mycroft bits of meat by hand. “No.” He sighed quietly. “We get odd cases every now and again. Two, maybe three times a year. Wounds that just can’t be classified as anything but animal attacks, but it’s no animal that any expert of ours can identify. Sometimes someone tries to cover it up by slashing up the body, but there’s no disguising that kind of damage.”

Greg abandoned the last of the hamburger patties as Mycroft had gone a bit green around the gills, reaching out to stroke his hair. Mycroft settled into him with a little groan, trembling faintly. “The deaths aren’t covered up, not really. But they aren’t exactly investigated either. We don’t have the resources for that sort of thing.” Greg sighed again, pulling Mycroft with him as he laid down, cradling him close. “So no, I’m not really surprised. I suspected, but...” He laughed quietly. “Can’t exactly just ask your boyfriend point-blank if he’s a werewolf.”

Mycroft broke out into nervous giggles, shaking his head blindly as they stretched out on the sofa together. Mycroft abruptly took in a deep breath and sat up, straddling Greg’s waist. “You’ve made me so happy these past few months and I know this is selfish - I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be alone anymore. But I can’t stop thinking of what might happen if it sniffs you out and my God, you could wind up dead or...” He smoothed his hands down his pyjama-clad torso. “Or - this. You should leave, Greg. Leave now and don’t look back.”

“Not a chance. You were sniffing around just outside and you knew I was here, but you didn’t try to break down the door or anything like that.”

Mycroft’s eyes were wide, his body held tense and unwavering. “It _saw_ you?”

Greg frowned as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think you did. Just a little scratching and sniffing, that’s all.” He stroked Mycroft’s thighs as he seemed to contemplate this. “Listen. I’m not going to do anything stupid like open the door and invite you in for tea, but really... Have you ever hurt anyone when you’re like - that?”

Mycroft bit his lip. “Not to the best of my knowledge. But that is why I come out here - to ensure that anything like that doesn’t happen.” His chin started to wibble faintly. “As long as you’re here, I can’t keep you safe.”

“I can keep myself safe. More importantly, I can keep you fed.” Greg gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s plenty in there, you know. Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

Mycroft sighed, shrugging his shoulders listlessly. “It takes quite a bit out of me - I mostly sleep during the day, and then it’s time to go out again.” He glanced back at the remaining hamburger, licking his lips. “I don’t usually have the energy to even bother.”

“Because you need food, you silly pup.” Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, but one corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. “That settles it. You need me to help take care of you, so I’m not going anywhere.”

“Greg, you really should...”

Greg sternly crossed his arms over his chest, even though he was still lying down and the gesture didn’t pack quite the same punch. “No, Mycroft. I am staying. I’m going to feed you and look after you because I love you and you are just going to have to accept that. No more self-martyrdom because of something that happened God only knows how many years ago that was _not your fault_. It’s well past time you stopped torturing yourself.”

Mycroft sat immobile, blinking rapidly. Greg softened his stance as he realised that only one thing in his little rant had struck a chord in Mycroft’s brain. “You...” Mycroft’s voice petered out, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “You l-love... Me?”

Greg barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mycroft. I do.” He smiled softly as Mycroft’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “I’m quite hopelessly in love with you, you daft bugger.”

Mycroft’s eyes sharpened, studying Greg’s face intently. His fingers twitched as he seemed to come to some decision, tangling around each other before he shook them out and reached for the buttons on his top.

Greg ran his hands up Mycroft’s thighs, squeezing gently. “Mycroft...”

“It’s okay.” Mycroft smiled brightly down at him, and Greg could almost feel the giddy relief of it in his own chest. “I’m ready now. I... I love you too, and this is something I want to share with you. You deserve to see, to know.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very beginning of Mycroft's story...
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies - please do comment!!
> 
> ~xoxo~

Greg slid his fingers under the bottom hem of Mycroft’s shirt, reaching up just high enough to tickle at his bellybutton. Mycroft giggled faintly before taking a moment to gather himself. He took in a deep breath and finally slid the shirt off his shoulders, tilting his chin as he sat up straight.

Greg’s breath caught, not so much at the sight of the scars, but at all of the glorious chest hair that was finally - _‘finally, thank God!’_ \- revealed to him. His fingers twitched against Mycroft’s belly, and he lifted an elegant eyebrow as his cool grey eyes searched his face. Greg’s lips twisted up into a foolish grin as he walked his fingers up Mycroft’s torso, burying them deep in the abundant growth.

“Really? _That’s_ what you’ve chosen to fixate on?” Greg nodded wordlessly, his fingers moving restlessly, tugging and scratching. He let out a small whine as Mycroft captured his right hand, giving it a small kiss before deliberately placing it over the scars. He shivered as Greg caressed the puckered flesh, his cheeks going pink. “Sensitive.” He shook his head as Greg made to withdraw, pressing his hand closer. “It isn’t unpleasant. I just... Nobody’s ever touched them before.”

“Oh, love.” Greg frowned as he spread his fingers wide, easily fitting them into the runnels of flesh marring Mycroft’s ribcage. He lightly dragged them down and across, mapping out the damage. Then he looked at Mycroft’s right shoulder, subconsciously flexing his jaw at the clear pattern of a bite mark. A very large bite mark. His eyes prickled with tears as he realised that Mycroft had been face to face with his attacker. He had seen Death coming for him, and had been utterly helpless to do a damn thing about it. His frown increased as he felt at the claw marks again. “Was there organ damage? These were deep - very deep.”

Mycroft’s blush brightened, and he avoided his eyes as he shook his head. “No. I had a bit more - padding - at the time. I do have some gouges in my ribs, but it didn’t go any deeper than that. It was the blood loss that nearly killed me.” His hand came up to touch the bite mark. “And the - infection.”

Greg hastily pulled the duvet back up over Mycroft as he started to shiver, easing him back down to lie on his chest. He kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, waiting until Mycroft’s tremors had subsided before speaking. “Can... I mean, you know you don’t have to, but can you tell me about it?”

Mycroft was silent for a long while, his eyelashes brushing against the skin on Greg’s neck as he blinked rapidly. He finally took in a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the film _An American Werewolf in London_?” Mycroft huffed out an ironic laugh as Greg winced silently - it was one of his favourites. “It was very much like that, oddly enough. Sans the Americans, of course. Fresh out of University, my - p-partner and I decided to have a bit of an adventure.”

Mycroft settled in a bit deeper as Greg gave him a reassuring squeeze. “We’d been together a little over a year and had been making plans for the future. I had a position waiting for me in Whitehall, but we wanted to travel just a little before settling down. Paris was next on the list, of course. I’ve been since on business, but I still haven’t explored the city. Never seemed to be much point without - him.”

“I’ll take you to Paris, _mon cher._ Take you to my family’s cottage in the countryside, too.”

“Greg...”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I know.” Mycroft tilted his face up, giving him a kiss and a little nip on the chin. “Would you like to hear the rest of the story?”

Greg grumbled quietly. “Yes, I would. Sorry, love.”

“Right. So we’re backpacking across the moors, just like in the movie. Come across a little pub.” He tilted his head knowingly. “Just like in the movie... The people there weren’t hostile, but they weren’t exactly friendly either. Locals always distrust those that are just passing through, especially people like David and me. We knew better than to be demonstrative in public, but people like that could usually sniff us out.”

“And they didn’t like it.”

Mycroft’s lips twisted. “No.” He sighed quietly. “We sat in a corner and ate our dry pasties without speaking a word, silence all around us. When we got up to leave, the barman suddenly offered us a room. Too late for us to travel, he said. But it was just on three in the afternoon, so we demurred as politely as possible and went on our way. I think we both felt that we might have been in more danger had we stayed.”

“So there you were, trudging over the moors...”

“We were a bit smarter than the lads in the film. Stayed close to the road, didn’t take any shortcuts. Then night truly fell, and the mist with it, so we decided to make camp for the night.” Mycroft paused at Greg’s barely restrained snort of disbelieving laughter, reaching out to pinch his arm. “We had one of those tidy little pop-up tents. Perhaps not the Ritz, but when you’re young and flexible and curled up next to the warm body of the person you love, it hardly matters.” Mycroft paused again, subconsciously rubbing over the spot on Greg’s arm that he had just abused. “I was a different man then.”

Greg allowed himself a brief moment to imagine a young Mycroft, unapologetically ginger, bright-eyed and apple-cheeked, looking forward to a future full of prosperity and love. His heart twinged with something indefinable as he realised what he could have lost without ever having been the wiser. He gently stroked Mycroft’s hair and kissed his forehead. “I’m in love with the man you are now.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! For a little while, anyhow. I'm haring off to Atlanta for my first 221b Con on Tuesday, and I'm nervous and excited all at the same time. I'm going to meet my virtual peeps irl and probably embarrass the hell out of myself, but wheeee!
> 
> Not sure if I'll post next Sunday since I'll be in the thick of it, but I'm going to set up the next chapter now just in case. 
> 
> Please do comment, your lovely words help to keep me going! Kiss kiss!

Mycroft took in a sharp breath, pushing himself up to look Greg in the face. “You’re so very like him. Kind, generous - selfless.” His eyes began to shimmer with tears, and this time he let them fall without shame. “When it came for us... David - he... He pushed me out of the way, told me to run. He stepped between me and it without a single thought for himself. He sacrificed himself. For me.” Mycroft took Greg’s hand and kissed his palm before holding it to his chest, over his heart.

“There have been times when I almost convinced myself that he had been nothing but a dream. Men like that just don’t exist, not in the real world. And yet.” Mycroft leant in and nuzzled Greg’s cheek, kissing away the tears that had fallen in solidarity. “Here you are.”

Greg scoffed and sniffled in equal measure. “I’m hardly the perfect man.”

Mycroft smiled down at him fondly. “No. You can be brash, and far too cheeky for your own good. You have more care for your job than you do your health...” Mycroft rolled his eyes as that particular statement garnered him quite the _look._ “Yes, in that regard you are hardly unique. However, my point still stands. You are not perfect according to some arbitrary fantasy. You are perfect solely because you are mine.”

“Mycroft - what can I even say to something like that?”

Mycroft sniffed disdainfully. “Absolutely nothing, other than to concede the truth of my statement.”

“Git.” Greg tweaked Mycroft’s slightly reddened nose, relishing in his brief bout of giggles before making the moment solemn once again. “How did you survive?”

“A select few of the villagers from the pub had come out after us once they discovered that their local - nuisance - had failed to lock himself in properly that night. He had reinforced his cellar to make it into a tidy little den for his changes. But he was also apparently a bit of a religious zealot, and didn’t take too kindly to perversions of God wandering freely about the countryside. At least, not in his territory. He had been there in the pub that afternoon, had muttered something about ‘cleansing the wicked from the earth’ and had gone home to lock himself up.

With the encouragement of their wives, a couple of the more rational fellows went to check on him and found the cellar door wide open. They came after us as quickly as they could, but by that time the damage had already been done.” Mycroft’s fingers twitched on Greg’s chest, subconsciously balling into a fist. “When David told me to run, that’s exactly what I did. Lord help me, I just abandoned him. I think I knew that it was hopeless, but when you’re in such a state, rational thought doesn’t exactly filter down properly.

I’m still not sure whether I ran in a circle in my sheer bloody panic or if it came around for the attack. I only know that when I looked up from my feet it was just - there. The blow from the hand, paw, whatever, it threw me to the ground and then it was on t-top of me a-and there were _teeth_ and oh _God_ the p-pain and the blinding fear and _‘this can’t be happening how can this be happening’_...”

Mycroft took in a shaky breath and let it out on a long exhale, burying his face in Greg’s neck as he soothed his hands up and down his back. “I heard the shots before I passed out - felt the weight of the creature as it collapsed over me. I drifted in and out as the men tried to stem the bleeding, as they carried me away. I looked for the creature, but there was only a man. A dried-up little husk of a man. I didn’t see David. From what they hinted at later, that was most likely a blessing.

I woke up in someone’s house - a retired country doctor. He stitched me up and explained my new reality to me. His entire lecture was all very direct and matter-of-fact, almost rote. They’re very pragmatic, those villagers. In their view, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and there’s no use weeping and wailing about it. You either carry on, or you do away with yourself. I chose to carry on, although I’ll admit that it was a bit touch and go in the early days.”

Greg absorbed all this for a little while, becoming increasingly conscious of the dwindling light outside. “You were - and are - very brave. I’m very sorry that this horrible thing happened to you. Sorry that you lost your David in such an awful manner. I can’t even imagine.”

“If it weren’t for my Uncle Rudy, I’m fairly certain I would not be here today.” Mycroft gestured vaguely around them. “He set all this up for me, made sure I had the resources that I needed and helped me to keep it secret from my parents.”

“But not from Sherlock.”

Mycroft snorted faintly. “He was quite adept at eavesdropping, even then. During one of my meetings with Uncle Rudy, I caught a glance of his curly little head just outside. I threw open the window and hauled him bodily into the room. I may or may not have been growling rather emphatically at the time.” Mycroft smirked as Greg shook with silent laughter. “I’m fairly certain that I put the fear of God into him that night, at least as far as my - condition - was concerned. I answered what questions I could, and he hasn’t interrogated me about it since. Uncle Rudy later confided to me that it was one of the most enjoyable meetings he’d ever had.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since we've had some smut, so here! Have something sweet and gentle and still dirty - whoo!
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies. You are the reason I'm here!
> 
> ~xoxo~

Greg shook his head through his soft giggling. “Did you know that Sherlock tried to warn me away from you? In the beginning.”

Mycroft shrugged idly. “I’m not surprised. You mean a great deal to him, Greg. He was just trying to look after you.”

“He didn’t try to stop me coming up here, though. Gave me the means and all.” Mycroft blinked, letting that thought sink in. Greg tilted his head, all of his questions jumbling up in his brain. “Are there others? Like you, I mean.”

“Well, yes. It’s not like a - community, or anything like that. We don’t congregate. But I have passed by others in the city from time to time. Not often, but we do recognise each other. There’s an... Energy. A certain smell that surrounds us and the people that we’ve touched. We generally just acknowledge each other with a little nod and move on, but there have been one or two occasions where things got a little - tense. They backed off fairly quickly once George put in an appearance, of course.”   

Greg chuckled. “Bloke’s too scary even for the monsters.” He hummed thoughtfully. “So you can, like, _smell_ werewolf on somebody else?”

Mycroft shrugged faintly. “Pheromones. It’s fairly light around people like friends and family.” His cheeks burned against Greg’s skin as he cleared his throat. “It’s a bit more obvious on lovers. I’ll admit that it has occasionally left me feeling rather - competitive - in the past. I may have even followed that instinct once or twice. Naturally, if an opportunity came up now I would most certainly resist the temptation.”

“Ah. That explains...”

Greg felt Mycroft go still and tense above him, and he bit his lip as he met his eyes, cold and implacable. “Explains _what_ , exactly?”

Greg sighed. “There was this guy at the chippy the other night - the cook. Came out from behind the counter and started chatting me up even though there was a decent queue. He was pretty insistent - aggressive. He only backed off once I showed him my warrant card. There was something about him that reminded me of, well - of you.”

Mycroft growled low, sending a quick jolt of arousal through Greg’s belly. “Perhaps he needs to be taught not to encroach on another’s...”

Greg pursed his lips in amusement. “What? Territory - property? Mate? What am I to you, Mycroft?”

Mycroft nuzzled up against Greg’s throat, still snarling softly. “You are _mine_.”

Greg pulled him into a long, deep kiss, breaking apart only for breath. He knocked their foreheads together. “That I am.” He ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, gentling the little whines pushing through his throat. “It’s getting dark, love. When do you - uh...”

Mycroft sighed heavily and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Sometime between sunset and moonrise. You are correct - I should leave soon.”

Greg sat up slowly, nodding at the lone hamburger still sitting on the coffee table. “Eat, pup.”

Mycroft glared, but reached for the meat anyway, nibbling at it petulantly. He watched with interest as Greg stood and stretched before crouching to re-build the fire. Greg could feel his eyes on him, his gaze almost like a warm blanket covering him, coddling him. He heard Mycroft get up from the sofa, acutely aware of his shuffling footsteps coming towards him.

Greg looked up after putting another log on the fire, just in time to see Mycroft throw the duvet off his shoulders. It fell to the floor behind him with a flump, his pyjama bottoms and pants following quickly thereafter.

Greg’s mouth went dry as he looked up at him, the firelight casting strange shadows over his decades-old wounds and making the ginger in his body hair gleam. Greg reached for Mycroft just as he started to slide onto his knees, pulling him into his lap. They shared a few soft kisses before Greg simply had to plant his face in Mycroft’s chest, running his nose from side to side and giggling happily as the hair tickled at his skin.

Through his quiet laughter, Mycroft pleaded with him for more. “Greg, Greg - please. I need...”

Greg’s hands roved over Mycroft's body as he nibbled on his jaw, his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. “Tell me, love. What do you need?”

“You.” Mycroft trembled at each soft touch, crawling further into Greg’s lap. “Mark me, make me smell of you. I want it to know that I’m yours.”

Greg carefully laid Mycroft down on the fluffy duvet, pausing only long enough to shuck off his clothes. Mycroft writhed sinuously as Greg parted his thighs, his eyes rapt in the flickering firelight. He dragged his fingers through Greg’s hair as he ran his nose along his inner thigh, grasping it tightly as he moved to swallow him down. Mycroft’s guttural groan made Greg’s cock twitch hard, and he gasped around his hefty mouthful.

He opened wide and pushed himself a bit further than was necessary, gagging quietly and releasing a flood of saliva. Pulling off hastily, Greg took a moment to skim his lips over the marks on Mycroft’s ribcage before laying the weight of his body down over him. Mycroft hissed with pleasure as they both began to rock together, wrapping his legs around Greg’s waist. Rutting against each other, sparing no thought to rhythm or speed, only to chasing the pleasure that was coursing through their bodies.

Greg grunted with each slick glide, his eyes fixed on Mycroft’s face, suffused with a quiet and yet overwhelming ecstasy. His pale red lashes swept over the curve of his cheeks, highlighting the hectic spots of colour that Greg had always found so entrancing during these private moments. With an odd sort of growling squeak, Mycroft threw his head to the side, exposing the right side of his neck - of his shoulder.

Greg looked down at the gnarled mass of tissue, feeling such a wave of emotion that it nearly overwhelmed him. Fear for what he could have lost, admiration, respect and love for the man who was even now shaking with pleasure underneath him. 

He lowered his head and tried to lave the ancient hurt and terror away, kissing and licking and sucking at the bite mark. Mycroft moaned and clutched at him, his hips thrusting hard against him. When Greg opened his mouth wide, gently and cautiously biting down, Mycroft let out a wail and came almost instantly.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft runs out into the night, and Greg frets. Poor lads.
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies! Back from Con, and it was soooo much fun. Next year I will bring my bathing suit and have even *more* fun! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, please do comment!  
> ~xoxoxo~

Greg stilled and waited for the flood to abate, cautious of overloading Mycroft’s senses. Soon enough Mycroft was pushing at his chest, his fingers seeking and face intent. Greg raised himself up on one hand and started fisting his cock, stealing breathless kisses as Mycroft whispered of his love and his devotion.

“Yours,” he said. “Show it - show _me_ that I will always be yours.”

Greg panted against Mycroft’s shoulder as the pressure in his groin exploded, adding liberally to the mess on his lover’s pale white belly. Mycroft stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, running his tongue along his hairline and licking up his sweat. He shuddered hard as Greg sat back, grinning with satisfaction as he twirled his forefinger through the congealing mass. He popped his finger into his mouth, his features squinching up.

“Meaty.”

Mycroft started to laugh, but it quickly turned into a grimace as his limbs seemed to contort briefly. “F-fuck. I have to go. Now.”

Greg scrambled to his feet and helped Mycroft up before bolting for the kitchen. He ran back to the door as Mycroft threw it open, holding out a package wrapped in white butcher paper. “Take this. Maybe it will help.” Mycroft blinked at it and took it reluctantly. “It’s either you eat it out there or it rots in here. I love you madly, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to cook liver for you.”

Mycroft simply shook his head, leaning in to knock their foreheads together. “You lock this door and do not open it for _anything_ , do you understand me?”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Mycroft took in a deep breath, showing teeth that were definitely sharper than they had been just a moment earlier. When he spoke, there was a deep growl underlying his usual sultry tone, something harsh and grating that struck right at the base of Greg’s spine. “ _Gregory Thomas Lestrade._ You will do as I say.”

Greg nodded, his knees suddenly gone weak as his heart tripped into double-time. “Yes, love. I promise.”

After one more hefty sniff at his neck, Mycroft turned and ran out the door into the darkness. Greg briefly stepped out after him, watching his pale form loping across the moors until he vanished completely from his sight. And then he did as he had been bade, stepping back inside and locking the door securely behind him.  

Greg leant against it for a few moments, surveying the room as he pondered how he might keep himself occupied for the evening. If he let himself sit idle, he knew that his curiosity would get the better of him, and that would only lead to trouble. So he heaved out a sigh and went to retrieve the duvet, shaking it back out over the bed. He fussed in the kitchen, washing what few dishes there were and taking out a roast to cook for supper.

Surveying the small pantry, Greg shook his head at the lack of basic staples. There was barely even any salt or pepper in the place. Mentally adding to the grocery list as he worked, Greg prepped the meat and put it in the oven before going to shower. He took his time, carefully lathering up with Mycroft’s fancy toiletries, breathing in the aroma that lingered in the steam-laden air. He forced himself to move calmly, deliberately, paying attention only to what he was doing and not letting his thoughts wander to what might be happening out - there.

For the most part, it seemed to work. He lost a couple of hours in answering emails, once again thanking an unseen entity for the miracle of working WiFi out in the middle of nowhere. He’d have to ask Mycroft more about his dear old Uncle Rudy. Greg was beginning to suspect that his lover had connections beyond this mortal plane, what with the magic that he and his seemed to wield.

With the roast cooked and partially consumed, Greg settled down on the sofa, sitting cross-legged with his laptop perched on his knees. He happened to have a selection of movies tucked away, one of them being the aforementioned _An American Werewolf in London._ Greg figured that if he was to move in with Mycroft, he wouldn’t have many chances to watch it, so why not use this opportunity?

But of course he couldn’t. When it got to the bit where the boys were attacked, Greg reached out and slammed his laptop shut without conscious thought. Unable to sit there with images of Mycroft running for his life flickering through his head, he stood and paced instead. Greg went to the back window, shading his eyes from the light behind him. He looked out into the darkness as the tears fell, leaning his forehead against the glass as his heart reached out.

Alone. Mycroft had faced this by himself for so many years and now he was all alone out there and Greg could do absolutely nothing to help him. He took in a sharp breath as he abruptly shook himself out of his melancholy. Mycroft _had_ been alone, yes, but he wasn’t any longer and Greg would be of no use to him if he insisted on dwelling on the past.

What was done was done, and the only thing that either of them could do now was to move forward.

Greg resolutely wiped at his face as he squared his shoulders, once more looking out over the moonlit moors. He blinked his eyes to clear them, shading his face again to see more clearly. He practically held his breath as he searched for the shadow that he was sure had flickered at the edge of his vision, but of course nothing moved.

_‘Seeing things now. Well done, Lestrade.’_

Shaking his head, he tidied in the kitchen, slicing up some meat and leaving it out on the coffee table for his stray. Then Greg retired to the bedroom, choosing a much more lighthearted film to fall asleep to.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Okay, okay - so. This chapter is um... Not sure how to classify it, actually, other than Wolfcroft sexin' Greg up. He's not fully turned, buuuuut he's not quite fully himself, either. So please take that with a grain of salt, and if quasi-werewolf sex might freak you out, feel free to skip over it.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking by me - I adore each and every one of you! 
> 
> ~xoxo~

Greg was dimly aware of the sound of the outer door opening and closing, blinking into the near blackness of the room. Although there was a hint of dawn in the cool air, he was very aware that it was much earlier in the morning than it had been when Mycroft had returned the day before. Despite his best efforts, his body tensed as he listened to soft footsteps padding closer, the sound of Mycroft’s breathing almost ragged in the silence of the room.

“Greg.”

Swallowing hard at the harshness of that single syllable, Greg slowly propped himself up on his elbow, glancing over his shoulder at the dim shape of his lover lingering in the doorway of the bedroom. Even though he couldn’t see him clearly, it was obvious that he wasn’t quite himself. A bit taller, and definitely broader even though he was hunched over slightly in an attempt to make himself look smaller. He was also fuzzier than usual, a notion that made Greg want to giggle despite the almost overwhelming sense of dread in the air. 

“Yes, love?”

There was a grating snarl as Mycroft began to pace at the foot of the bed. “It’s too restless inside me - can’t come down, can’t run it off. It smells you - it needs...”

The words were almost unclear, rushed and garbled, not like Mycroft’s smoothly sensual voice at all. But the meaning became clear as Greg’s eyes adjusted to the dark, as he noted the outline of Mycroft’s posture and the rather desperate state that he seemed to be in. 

With his heart pounding in his ears, Greg threw aside the covers as casually as he could, revealing his nakedness. With another slow, deep breath, he rolled over onto his belly and wiggled his behind. 

“Come and get it, then.”

With his breath still ragged and movements unsure, Mycroft reached out and very carefully wrapped his hands around Greg’s ankles. He tensed again as he felt the very tips of blunt claws scratch against his skin, and let out a short whoop of surprise as he was simply dragged down the mattress. He flailed out and managed to grab his pillow, burying his face in it even as he spread his legs as best he could.

Mycroft barely hesitated, boldly sticking his nose right in Greg’s arse and giving him a hearty sniff. Greg shouted into his pillow at the first touch, as Mycroft’s skin was so hot that he almost felt like he had been singed. His tongue was somehow even hotter and so wet that Greg immediately felt saliva dripping down over his bollocks.

He squirmed as Mycroft licked at him, his tongue eagerly worming into his body. It seemed longer than usual, and infinitely much more mobile. Greg turned his head to catch his breath, sucking in a gasp as Mycroft snarled and tightened his grip on his arse-cheeks. 

He involuntarily jerked away as the tips of those claws bit into his flesh, choking out a harried, “Careful with those!”

Mycroft whined, his fingers relaxing only exponentially. Greg shuddered at the sound of Mycroft’s teeth grinding together, his arsehole twitching as hot breath gusted over it. “Trying. It’s just - so...” He somehow growled and sighed all at once, sending shivers up Greg’s spine.  _ “Gooood... hnngrhhrr...” _

Greg only managed to endure another thirty seconds or so of wet slurping and tongue-fucking before he tried to push himself up on his knees. “Fuck’s sake, Mycroft, take me!”

There was no argument, only a strangled sort of laugh, as Mycroft shifted his grip, hauling Greg closer to the edge of the mattress, chuffing his approval as his hapless victim spread his knees wide and hunkered down low. Greg could barely take in breath as Mycroft poked at him with the tip of his cock, smearing hot, sticky pre-come over the globes of his arse, dragging it through the rivulets of spit that he had left behind. 

Then he started to push, and Greg froze as he tried to make sense out of what he was feeling. It was different somehow, slicker and more supple, but heavier and - _oh_ \- longer. Mycroft paused for the space of two breaths before he started to fuck deep into Greg’s body, moving with long, powerful strokes. Every hair stood up on Greg’s body as he was willingly assaulted, nothing but soft gasps for air escaping him with each hard thrust. 

Each stroke slid relentlessly over his prostate, ratcheting up his arousal almost unbearably with each pass. He’d only started to get worked up as Mycroft had opened him with his tongue, and now he felt like he might explode at any moment. It was rather like going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, and Greg couldn’t decide whether it was fucking fantastic or completely agonising. 

He grunted as an especially hard thrust made him slide up the bed, trying to push back to stay in place. Mycroft snarled and merely chased after him, going to his knees behind him and crouching over his back, his body hair tickling at Greg’s skin. Greg briefly buried his face in his pillow as Mycroft roughly pulled his arms out from underneath him, wrapping his hands around his wrists and pinning him to the bed.

Keeping his arms rigid as he continued to fuck him, Mycroft held Greg in the unyielding cage of his body, leaving him absolutely no room to wriggle away. Greg cried out as he was pounded ruthlessly, breaking out into a sweat as the heat of Mycroft’s body enveloped him. He whimpered as Mycroft lowered his head to his neck, that strange tongue slithering behind his ear and licking at him. 

He jerked his head away at a sharp sensation at his ear, gasping out a warning. “T-teeth! Watch it!”

Mycroft whined, low and pitiful, apologising with a few more careful licks at his neck. He shifted to put his forehead in between Greg’s shoulder blades, his saliva dripping down as he panted with his efforts.

Greg balled his hands into fists as the pressure within suddenly exploded, his entire body jerking spasmodically as he unloaded onto the sheets. Momentarily breathless with the shock of it, he could only wheeze as Mycroft snarled in triumph and slammed home one final time. Greg sucked in a great rush of air as Mycroft’s cock pulsed and twitched inside him, filling him so full that he thought he might just pop.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the aftermath - good thing Greg isn't easily traumatised...
> 
> This is the last chapter I had pre-written, so I'm not sure when I'll update on the next one. Please do read and comment, it helps keep the morale up!
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies!  
> ~xoxo~

Mycroft let out a whine with each twitch of his cock, his fingers flexing painfully around Greg’s wrists. “M-myc? That’s - ow.”

Mycroft shuddered as he forced himself to relax, letting his breath out in a soft puff as he gentled his hold, reaching up to twine their fingers together instead. “Greg...”

Greg nodded as he regained his breath, curling his hands into Mycroft’s. He was relieved that the nails were no longer digging into his flesh, and he marvelled silently at the sensation of Mycroft’s body seeming to shrink into itself against his back. He tried to pull away, to lie down and stretch out, but something prevented it.

Mycroft grunted as Greg tugged at him, slowly pushing himself up and grasping at his hips. Greg squeezed down on the obstruction in his arse as Mycroft hummed low. “Hm. That's - interesting.”

“What’s going on back there? I’m still full, what the hell Myc are we stuck like this oh _Jesus..._ ”

Mycroft soothed his hands down Greg’s back before wrapping an arm around his waist and slowly manoeuvring them both onto their sides. He nuzzled at Greg’s neck as he trembled in his arms, keeping him tucked in close. Mycroft yawned into his shoulder and rumbled out soothing noises until Greg relaxed in his hold. “Calm yourself. It will - subside.”

“But what if it doesn't, what if...” Greg tried to get comfortable as he felt his lover’s arm grow heavy around his waist. "Myc?" He bit his lip as Mycroft's breathing evened out behind him, brushing gently against the nape of his decidedly sweaty neck. Clearly, nothing could be done about it until Mycroft had slept it off and his body had fully returned to normal. Greg sighed as he wiggled, giving his hips another experimental twist.

Mycroft let out a soft wheeze in his sleep, and Greg blinked into the rising daylight as he felt a distinct twitch and soft rush of fluid deep within. Taking in a shaky breath and letting it out slowly, Greg closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep despite the hard cock still crammed up his arse.

When Greg woke in the middle of the afternoon, he felt blessedly empty. He stretched against Mycroft’s limp form, pulling a face at the vague sliminess between their bodies. Cursing under his breath, Greg slid out of bed, his skin virtually crawling as something dripped down his leg. Moving swiftly, he ducked into the shower and got it running, immediately soaping up down below.

He held his breath as he slipped his sudsy hand around and between, letting it out shakily as he felt nothing amiss. It was tender, yes, but no more so than after one of their more vigorous shags. Greg pressed his forehead up against the cubicle wall briefly as the warm water cascaded down his back.

_‘Holy hell, I fucked a werewolf.’_

He snorted faintly to himself, realising that his thoughts sounded vaguely like a seventies porno. His cock twitched as images of the early morning encounter flashed through his mind, but Greg shook them out of his head. He reached for the shampoo, smiling at the smell of bergamot that drifted around his head as he lathered up.

Greg was just ducking his head under to rinse when the bathroom door slammed open. “Fuck!” He jerked his head around, squinting one eye shut as the shampoo ran right into it.

“Greg!”

Greg sputtered as Mycroft ripped the curtain open, his face panicky and wild. “What? Fuck’s sake, Myc, you just scared me half to death.” He stepped back under the spray as Mycroft’s hands clutched at him, spinning him in place. Greg patiently endured the rough inspection, finally reaching out to draw Mycroft into the shower with him. “No harm done, love.”

Mycroft held him to his chest, his arms shaking as he clutched him tight. “ _Greg_ , oh my God.”

Greg hummed, taking the opportunity to run a sudsy flannel up and down Mycroft’s back. “So you do remember.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly, slowly calming down as Greg continued to stroke him in a gentle rhythm. “Y-yes. I’m not usually - in-between - like that. When I’m fully under I don’t remember anything at all, but this time...”

“You remember last night too?”

Mycroft’s eyes went distant as Greg pulled away slightly, carefully washing his chest and belly. “Vaguely? I think... I think my anxiety for you was stronger than the - beast. I was compelled to stay close.”

Greg felt his lips quirk up. “Thought that might have been you.” He quickly shushed Mycroft as his eyes widened almost comically. “No, I didn’t see you, not really - it was more of a feeling. I thought I saw something once or twice, but it was just a flash in the shadows and then it was gone.”

Mycroft’s gaze was still somewhat vacant, but his cheeks went pink as he seemed to recall something, abruptly focusing on Greg’s face. “I think I may have marked my territory once.” He cleared his throat as Greg giggled. “Or twice.”

“You certainly marked me.” Greg smiled as Mycroft shook his head almost mournfully. “Like I said, no harm done. Barely a scratch.”

Mycroft gently wrapped his fingers around Greg’s bruised wrists. “Oh? Then what is this?”

Greg swallowed and then smiled up at his lover as brightly as he could. “Nothing but reminders of one of the hottest fucks I’ve ever had.”

Mycroft growled and pulled him in for a fierce kiss, knocking their foreheads together. “You are an irredeemable tramp and I love you so much that it astounds me.”

Greg sighed against Mycroft’s lips. “I love you too, beastie.” He pressed the flannel into Mycroft’s hand and tried to twist away. “Finish washing up and I’ll go get you something to eat.”

He swiftly found himself pushed up against the wall with Mycroft’s cock pressing between his arse-cheeks. “Oh, but Greg. You’ve wanted to ‘shower’ with me for ages.”

Greg shook his head with a little smile as he looked over his shoulder. “And I still do want to ‘shower’ with you, love.” He mimicked the little air quotes that had been clear in Mycroft’s tone with his fingers. “It would be preferable to do it somewhere where I won’t have to worry about falling out of the tub - like your ridiculously huge shower at home.”

Mycroft ground into him with a low whine. “But...”

Greg pushed back and twisted, this time succeeding in pulling free. He poked Mycroft in the chest, levelling his best serious face at him. “Shower, sustenance, and _then_ sex. If there’s time.” He softened his stance as Mycroft pouted at him. “We cut it a little too close last night, don’t you think?”

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!
> 
> (I'm also over on Pillowfort.io if anyone out there is giving them a shot - as 'sanguisuga'. Come follow me and join the 'mystrade' community!)


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